Stargate Ragnarok: Baptism of Fire, Part 1
by Sealurk
Summary: Ep 3: SG-27 has been disbanded and reassigned, and the Fenrir threat remains - but all is not lost. A secret British project may hold the key to the galaxy's survival - if Taylor and his team can make it work. Set shortly after SGU "Air".
1. Chapter 1

**Stargate: Ragnarok**

**Baptism of Fire, Part 1**

**Chapter 1**

The late autumn sun had long since set on Hereford as the silver Land Rover approached. The heavily customised Defender 90 crunched over the gravel as it turned into the driveway, it's headlights sweeping across the black Audi saloon parked in front of the house, briefly illuminating it's two occupants. He didn't recognise either of them, and after driving for most of the day, it did little to lighten his mood. Sighing and muttering under his breath, he turned the ignition off, grabbed the newspaper and duty free carrier bag from the passenger seat and climbed out of the vehicle, his breath misting in the cold air.

Almost immediately, the occupants of the black executive car did the same, both men straightening their clothes while never taking their eyes off him as they headed his way. Hearing his car lock and the alarm chirrup, he continued walking to his front door, wanting the outside light behind him so he could properly see the newcomer's faces.

"Are you Major Taylor? Major David James Taylor?" the first man said. He was standing a few metres away, his arms hanging by his side almost like he was ready for something to happen. His partner stood a few metres beside him in a similar stance.

"Who wants to know?" Taylor replied, his tone even and disinterested. He didn't have any true weapons on his person, but he was tightly holding a bunch of keys that could be useful, and he knew he could swing or grab the bottle of scotch in the carrier bag in a second if need be. If it came down to it, he didn't necessarily need weapons to defend himself.

However, he couldn't be sure the men were unarmed. Their jackets were loose and long enough to easily conceal weapons much more potent than his – clubs, knives, pistols or worse. Paranoia, he'd found, was a useful survival trait, and given the things he'd done in his long service in the United Kingdom's special forces, he had every reason to suspect the worst of strangers. Especially suspicious looking strangers who waited outside his house late at night for him to come home from a week-long rock climbing break in the south of France.

"I'd like to see some ID, sir." The man continued, his hand reaching out expectantly.

"Likewise." Taylor said, his muscles beginning to stiffen. If they were hitmen, they were being monumentally certain of getting the right target.

Glancing at his partner, the man reached into a pocket, and pulled out a small, laminated credit card sized piece of plastic. Taylor took it warily, turning so that he kept the two men in his more motion-sensitive peripheral vision while he studied the identification card under the security light.

"What can I do for you, Captain Pearson?" Taylor said, relaxing slightly as he handed the man's ID back and reluctantly presented his own. "Ministry of Defence hasn't wanted a damn thing to do with me for months, and I'm inclined to return the favour. Why now?"

"I don't know, Major. All I know is I'm to hand these documents to you, and only you, in person. We've been trying to get hold of you for a few days. Can I ask where you were, sir?" Pearson said, returning Taylor's identification.

"MoD made it clear they wouldn't touch me with a ten foot barge pole and that my career is as good as over, and I still don't know why. So maybe I didn't want to be found. I generally find being halfway up a cliff outside Marseilles is a good way of doing that."

Pearson turned and nodded at the other man. Taylor watched as he reached into his jacket and produced an unmarked and yet extremely official looking reinforced manilla envelope. He made Taylor sign for it on a PDA before handing it over.

More out of paranoid habit than anything, Taylor waited for the two men to return to their car and drive off before he opened his front door and disabled the burglar alarm.

Taylor trudged into the sitting room and turned the television on – the channel was rarely changed. He listened casually as the newsreader droned on about government budget cuts, another sporting defeat for England and the incredibly uninteresting developments in a Z-list celebrity's life. Faced with this, Taylor went to the kitchen and poured himself a drink.

He kept eyeing up the envelope sitting on the work surface next to him. Half of him wanted to resign on the spot, leave it unopened and try and find some other avenue of life to focus on, despite only ever knowing the Army since he was seventeen. Right now, only the possibility of finding an explanation for SG-27's mysterious ejection from Stargate Command, it's subsequent disbandment and his treatment by the MoD stopped him from becoming a civilian.

Cautiously, he set the drink down and opened the envelope, studying the contents for several minutes and noting the distinctive Ministry of Defence paper. He stood there for a while, thinking, occasionally rereading the crisp and officious language. There was plenty of detail, but very little information beyond travel plans and time scales.

After a few minutes, he began searching for his mobile phone.

"Hey, Tom. It's me. Yeah, you too. Is it? Sorry, only just got in."

He checked his watch and winced silently as he listened.

"Yeah, I know I've been spoiling her, but hey, that's my job, right? Glad she liked it. Heh."

He pulled the sheet of paper over to him with his free hand while he waited for a natural break in the conversation. He summarised the salient points of the orders in his head: RAF Brize Norton, fourteen hundred hours, two days from now.

"Listen, Tom…something's come up. I'm being posted overseas in a couple of days, so basically – yep, again – so basically, the house is yours if you need it. Well, I'm thinking it'll get you away from Dad, and you'll be close enough for Em to visit at weekends, right? Oh, I dunno – ten, twelve months?"

* * *

The event horizon burbled and undulated peacefully, completely unaffected by the strong, cold wind tearing at the Stargate or its surroundings. The puddle rippled and the first figure stepped through, taken by surprise by the strong current in the air. Several more followed, the wind carrying several profanities away as they too struggled to stay upright.

"Bravo team, stand down. Elliot, Czerny, Meade, give them a hand with those bags." he just barely heard a Mid-Western accent shout over the gale. Three US airmen slung their rifles and moved from behind the concrete barriers to assist the newcomers with their luggage.

"Now, I've got to admit – this isn't at all what I imagined." Taylor said, gazing at the sight in front of him.

Though the veil of threatening grey cloud and cold wind were all too familiar, the land around the Stargate was completely different from how Taylor remembered it. The local vegetation, alien analogues of bracken and heather, had been incinerated and cleared in a large area and underneath it the fractured black volcanic rock of the ground had been smoothed and levelled.

"Wow…it's almost like being back in Afghanistan." Llewellyn said. Despite the obvious differences in the landscape, weather and vegetation, Taylor agreed. Ahead, all he could see were Hesco bastions, Bremer walls and Jersey barriers – the wide fortification in front of them had the same temporary modular construction used to build so many forward operating bases in the recent conflicts in the Middle East. However, there was a sizeable gap, almost the size of a football pitch, between the Stargate and the defensive line.

With a practised eye, Taylor quickly surveyed the defences, tensing involuntarily at the sight of so many weapons trained on him. Standing behind moveable concrete barriers, the combined American and British defence teams were incredibly well equipped. Besides their standard assault rifles, several of them wielded multiple shot grenade launchers, light machine guns or manned heavier static weapons – all aimed at the tract of bare cracked rock between them and the Stargate.

"Bloody hell. .50 cals, Miniguns, AGLs, AT-4s...that's one hell of a welcoming committee." Jarvis muttered, similarly impressed and intimidated.

"Major...out there." Moffatt said. Taylor followed her pointing finger, looking further out, deep into the currently rust-coloured alien heather that rippled under the ceaseless onslaught of the wind. He wasn't remotely surprised that the eagle-eyed medic and biologist had been the first to see anything.

Now that Kelly had pointed them out, it was very easy to see the numerous heavy weapon emplacements covering the gate from further afield, most of them dug in amongst the alien vegetation and covered in camouflage netting. There were Rapier SAM sites, Javelin anti-tank launchers, and he thought he could make out numerous concealed mortar positions.

Slowly at first, the team began moving away from the Stargate and towards the gap in the defensive line as the three armed and armoured US airmen walked towards them to relieve them of their luggage.

Grateful for the assistance, they headed towards whatever lay behind the three metre high wall of upright concrete slabs.

"Why do I get the impression I'm being watched through at least half a dozen sniper scopes right now?" Halverson said uneasily as their boots crunched over the rock, glancing sidelong at the relatively distant hills that flanked the shallow valley.

"Probably because you almost certainly are." Jarvis said casually, not seeing Halverson's eyes widen ever so slightly.

"If this were laid out for anybody other than the Fenrir, I'd accuse the military of overkill." Nesbitt said, awestruck and somewhat perturbed at the mass of military hardware currently pointed at him.

"It happened eight months ago, and it's still fresh. What happened on the Fenrir world, the battle we had here...it shook them. The SGC hadn't lost that many people in one engagement for a long time. I don't think they're going to take any chances. Hell, we wouldn't be standing here right now if the Fenrir weren't a deadly serious threat." Taylor mused.

The Stargate shut down behind them. As soon as the puddle had evaporated, a loud metallic scraping noise emanated from the same direction. Taylor and his team spun at the sound, just in time to see the metallic petals of an Iris slide out of the Stargate and lock together.

"Major Taylor! Sir, it's good to see you." Taylor turned again at the familiar voice – the UK liaison officer to the SGC was walking towards them, saluting. Jarvis, Moffatt and Llewellyn returned the salute sharply.

"Likewise, Captain Maddock." Taylor said, dropping one of his remaining bags and shaking the proffered hand.

"They installed it this morning, actually – about a month and a half later than scheduled, but at least we don't have to rely on the damn EGB any more." Maddock said, indicating the Iris at which they were gazing.

"Uh, excuse my ignorance...EGB?" Halverson said. "Asgard, proto-Norse and Norwegian I can handle. Military lingo still eludes me I'm afraid."

"Actually, it's a new one on me too." Taylor said, slightly puzzled.

"Don't worry, it's a relatively new development. It's the Expedient Gate Barrier. Something the SGC cooked up a while back – basically a cheap, simple and very quickly installed alternative to an Iris, designed for securing offworld gates without needing twelve hours and a full engineering platoon. Bit too cheap, if you ask me, but I suppose it did it's job. If you'll follow me, I'll show you the camp."

Following Maddock, they stepped through the gap in the wall. Moffatt pointed out a plain blue sign bearing the words "Welcome to P7T-434: Project Vidar Site 02" that had been erected just inside. Jarvis smiled as he read the handwritten phrase scrawled underneath - "THE ARSE END OF THE GALAXY".

"Project Vidar...oh, nice!" Halverson said as she read the sign.

"What's Vidar?" Llewellyn asked.

"Only the Norse god fated to destroy Fenrir and therefore prevent the destruction of the cosmos at Ragnarok." she responded, grinning.

"No pressure then..." Jarvis muttered.

They gazed around. Two or three acres more had been similarly cleared of plant-life and flattened as much as possible. It was occupied by rows of large green tents, suspended camouflage netting, pallets and cases of equipment and supplies, and a handful of portable buildings. A variety of construction vehicles sat in a line on the exposed rock. There appeared to be no evidence of the ferocious, desperate fire fight that had taken place on this spot eight months ago when they had narrowly escaped the Fenrir world, and twenty-one people had met their deaths.

Taylor gazed at the camp. US marines and other SGC personnel patrolled the site alongside their British counterparts, all of them seemingly oblivious to the dying but still high winds and low temperature.

"Sappers!" Llewellyn said happily, seeing fellow Royal Engineers around the site.

There were almost as many people not wearing military uniforms, which Taylor surmised were most likely SGC specialists and civilian contractors.

"You know, not to sound ungrateful, but I would have expected them to have done more with the place, what with eight months and three billion pounds to play with…" Jarvis muttered as he watched Sergeant Siler and another technician emerge from a nearby tent housing a naquadah reactor and the DHD, the Ancient pedestal partially opened up and hooked up to banks of computer terminals and other electronic equipment by a multitude of cables.

"Yeah, it's a bit...underwhelming. There has to be more to it than this..." Llewellyn murmured, casting a critical eye over the site. He did not look impressed.

Maddock didn't appear to have heard either of them as he began talking about the base.

"The MoD insisted we get a full, proper Iris installed as soon as possible, not least so the gate's protected in transit, but the SGC weren't happy about parting with the spare they always keep on base. Understandable I suppose, but we had to wait an extra two months for them to forge a new one – mark IV high carbon trinium-titanium, just like the one at Stargate Command. And they sent the same installation team they use."

"Excuse me – did you say 'in transit', as in, the Stargate is being moved?" Halverson said.

"Yes, of course. You didn't think this was the base, did you doctor?" Maddock said with a bemused smile.

"Well, I wasn't sure if the MoD spent most of their budget bribing the Pentagon." She said sarcastically. Maddock laughed.

"You'll have to excuse us, Captain – none of us knew anything about this operation until a few days ago. And even then details have been pretty damn thin on the ground." Taylor said, almost growling and instead yawning.

"Quite all right, sir – and you'll be briefed very soon. No, I assure you doctor, the real base is mere days away from becoming officially operational. As a matter of fact, now you're here they should be prepping the Stargate for it to be transferred in the next day or two. If you'll follow me, please." Maddock continued.

He led them to an area previously obscured by a trio of portable buildings and a large expanse of flapping camouflage netting. Sitting underneath the net were half a dozen Land Rovers, where two British soldiers relieved the team and their USAF helpers of their baggage and stowed it in the back of one of the vehicles before getting into the front. As the American airmen headed back to the gate, Maddock invited the team to climb aboard another of the utility vehicles before taking his place behind the wheel. Taylor pulled himself into the front passenger seat as the rest of SG-27 settled down in the back.

Satisfied, Maddock started the light truck and pulled out of the ad hoc compound, closely followed by the second vehicle with their bags. There was a trail cleared in the bracken, which Taylor knew would have been impossible to see from the gate even without the wall – Maddock was already guiding the Land Rover onto it and accelerating. Taylor wondered if he was going a little too fast – glancing at the speedometer, he noticed with a start that the vehicle was hurtling along what was essentially an off-road trail at more than seventy miles per hour. But the ride was remarkably smooth – the surface was naturally hardened, artificially smoothed volcanic rock.

"You may want to get comfortable. It's a little over an hour and a half's drive." Maddock said casually.

At breakneck speed, although its not like traffic's a problem, Taylor thought, gripping the dashboard with one hand and instinctively checking his watch with the other, making a mental note to ask what the local time was and if there was a way of adapting it to a twenty-four hour clock. He wondered briefly how the slightly lower gravity on 434 affected driving, but he also had a sickening thought that he would be finding out soon enough.

"What you saw was Site 02, which for now is just a temporary facility, a staging area. We get a great deal of our supplies, tools and materials through the gate, but we have to ship them to the main construction site. It's taken a while to get Site 01 up to spec enough to be able to receive the Stargate."

"So this is the Epsilon Site they've been building, sir?" Moffatt asked.

"Epsilon? I didn't even realise there had been a Delta Site. There was a Delta Site, right? Or am I getting my Greek alphabet wrong?" Taylor asked, slightly shocked at how out of the loop he'd become.

"Oh yeah," Llewellyn said ebulliently, "There was a Delta Site all right – was being the operative word – but I don't think anybody ever actually called it that outside of official documents. Or much past the planning stage, to be honest, since it had such a specialised role."

Taylor turned and gave Llewellyn a stern look.

"Just tell me what happened Lieutenant."

Seeing his commanding officer's expression, Llewellyn swallowed and took a deep breath. He'd completely forgotten Taylor had essentially lost all contact with Stargate operations since SG-27 was officially retired. All of them had been reassigned following the mission to the desert world of P2C-355, without explanation or delay.

"It, ah, blew up. Couple of weeks ago. The whole planet just went critical and then...ka-blooey! Took out a trio of Lucian Alliance ships too." Llewellyn said, happily imitating a colossal explosion with his hands. "That's what happens with naquadria cored worlds, unfortunately."

"Wait, what?" Taylor said, confused.

"Delta Site was the original name for Icarus Base, Dave. We were at the SGC for five hours...you must have heard something." Nesbitt said as he scratched his beard, his voice unusually sombre.

"Yeah, bits and pieces, that's all."

"I knew Rush, actually. We were both recruited into the Stargate Program at the same time. Troubled, difficult man, but brilliant."

Taylor knew Llewellyn meant nothing by his enthusiasm – large explosions of any description were simply one of the engineer's passions, and talents.

"It's something of a sticking point as to whether this planet is the Epsilon Site or not." Maddock said. "The MoD's stance is that we just co-opted the Epsilon Site budget, assets, construction crew and schedule. The Pentagon aren't entirely pleased with that, especially given the current tensions with the Lucian Alliance – they want as many installations as possible scattered around the galaxy, but General Bullock managed to convince them it's necessary. The Pentagon feels differently – as far as they are concerned, this is most definitely the Epsilon Site, at least until they actually get theirs built."

"Captain, tell me. Why's the gate being moved? Why not build the base here, or better yet, on a more hospitable world? There's got to be a Planet Barbados out there somewhere." Halverson called from the back.

Nesbitt cleared his throat.

"Actually, it makes sense Elise. Every bit of evidence I found says this gate is special – not only is it the only gate that can dial into the Void Prison...I think it's the only one that can _be_ dialled from the Prison. If the Fenrir are going to try and escape the Prison, it's through this gate." he said, emphatically stabbing his finger at the floor.

"Plus, there's the Gleipnir array to keep an eye on. Moving this gate would be too much hassle, probably best just to build it here." Llewellyn added. Nesbitt nodded agreement.

"You're right on both counts, but we're chiefly moving the gate because the Vanir facility underneath it – what remains of the facility, at any rate – is an important find that we're going to have archaeological teams going over with a fine toothed comb, which I expect you will be having a lot to do with Dr Halverson, and also because it makes the volcanically formed landscape unstable. It's full of potholes and voids and the like." Maddock shouted back over the roar of the engine, road and air. Taylor saw the speedometer exceed eighty.

"I know." Nesbitt grumbled.

"Anyway, our surveyors and geologists found a new site that's almost perfect. The ground there is thick, solid granite, much like the Canadian Shield, very safe from any tectonic or volcanic activity, with a large lake close by for fresh water."

For some time the conversation died down, reduced to trivial subjects that held no interest for Taylor, so he used the time to study the landscape as it shot past. It was much as he'd seen it last, for all intents and purposes an alien clone of unspoilt Dartmoor merged with the Scottish highlands. In every direction there were undulating plains and hills, devoid of trees but coated in dense green-brown vegetation that rarely exceeded one metre in height, a mix of alien plants resembling bracken and heather. Occasionally, a weather-beaten granite boulder appeared in the midst of the pseudo-bracken. He wasn't surprised by how rounded and worn the rocks were, as he knew from experience that the weather here could be vicious and could change in an instant. The prospect of living on this planet for an extended period of time did not fill him with joy.

"The weather seems unusually mild, Captain. At least compared to how I remember it." He said.

"Yeah, good point Dave – they do know this is the planet we very nearly froze to death on, right?" Halverson said from the back.

"Hmm, yes. The white coat lads tell me you had the misfortune to gate in almost at the height of Lyngvi's winter, followed by something to do with an eccentric orbit or something, according to the astronomy team. The nights now are tolerable enough that with sufficient lighting, everyone just goes on working. Even the construction crews." Maddock said. This statement was surprising to Taylor for two reasons – the nights on Lyngvi were long, almost a week by Earth standards. The other reason was simple.

"Wait – Lyngvi? The planet has a name?" Taylor said.

"It does now." Maddock said, smiling.

"Actually, P7T-434's probably always been called that, according to my research. Lyngvi was the island where the Norse gods bound Fenrir, Dave. And guess what – it means 'Heathery'. I'd say it's as good a name as any, considering." Halverson offered.

"Dr Jackson came up with it last month, came to the same conclusion." Maddock said, either not hearing or not responding to Halverson muttering "Well there's a surprise" under her breath.

As the conversation lulled again, Taylor looked out of the windscreen. In the time since they'd come through the gate, the clouds had almost dissipated, and the huge ringed gas giant that Lyngvi orbited was visible through the blue-grey sky. It sat low in the sky, at least half of it obscured by the horizon and occasional wisps of grey.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Maddock said, noticing Taylor staring at the planet. "Nobody's decided on a name yet – it's still just J7T-434. What I can tell you, if I remember the astronomical survey correctly, is that it's bigger than Jupiter, and Lyngvi orbits it at a little over seven hundred thousand kilometres. I hope that sounds about right."

Taylor twisted in his seat and frowned quizzically at Nesbitt.

"That's sounds about right – fairly close, too." The physicist confirmed.

The big planet was indeed beautiful. Though washed out by the daylight and atmosphere it was clear that it had the banded, multi-coloured aspect of Jupiter, and the dense, disc like rings of Saturn. Both, however, seemed tilted with respect to the horizon, but Taylor knew it was merely their own location on Lyngvi's surface that made it appear that way. There were two more globes in the sky, tiny and only just visible, and he realised they were other moons orbiting J7T-434.

With little else to do and another hour of driving ahead of them, Taylor shifted in his seat and closed his eyes. The last week had played havoc with his sleep patterns, not helped by a transatlantic flight. While this didn't bother him, he had long ago learnt to seize every possible minute of rest. Within seconds, the noise of the Land Rover, his team and the air outside faded out. 

* * *

" - repeat, four casualties, encountered heavy resistance, need immediate evac NOW!"

Taylor woke suddenly, the sound of Kalashnikovs and screaming soldiers disappearing instantly. One sound remained, one that he was familiar with – and one that sounded remarkably out of place on a distant alien world. The deep, thumping _wokka-wokka_ noise had been one of the most gratifying he'd heard in his time in Afghanistan and Iraq, especially when heavily under fire from Taliban fighters.

Craning his neck, he tried to see the source. Several hundred feet above them, silhouetted against the unnamed gas giant and it's attendant moons, the Chinook transport helicopter swept past them, a heavy load slung underneath it in a cargo net.

He grinned. Somehow, despite everything he'd seen in his short time with the Stargate program, the familiar image of the tandem rotor heavy lift aircraft juxtaposed against the alien sky of a world on the opposite side of the galaxy from Earth was distinctly surreal.

"We had to beg, steal and borrow the few helicopters we have, but they're invaluable. I don't think we'll have them for much longer – the MoD's desperate to return them to Helmand." Maddock said, following Taylor's gaze.

As the team continued talking amongst themselves about music, television, work, even catching up with gossip from the SGC, Taylor resumed staring at the rapidly passing landscape. The terrain had changed during his short sleep – not significantly, but noticeably. The rocks and boulders were becoming larger and more frequent with every passing minute, the hills considerably taller and more pronounced and the vegetation dropping lower to the ground. As he stared at the road surface he saw the black volcanic rock had given way to grey granite. He checked his watch – it had been an hour and twenty minutes since they'd set off.

Ahead of them was a particularly noticeable peak. It was a steep, craggy hill, the jagged grey rock looking like a scab or blister in the planet's skin of rust coloured vegetation, something highly reminiscent of the Scottish highlands. At the base of the hill was a large, wide black gash, it's edges ringed with mottled grey rock. Far ahead of them, Taylor saw a large transport truck. Above it, the Chinook was dropping closer and closer to the ground, the cargo net still slung underneath, all the while moving forward. Suddenly, as he watched, it disappeared inside the cave mouth, and with a grin he instantly appreciated the tremendous scale of the cavern.

"Holy cow! Did you see that?" Moffatt said.

The roof of the cave mouth had to be at least three hundred feet from the floor, and the width of the cave was considerably greater still. Only then did Taylor actually realise both the heavy truck and their own Land Rover were heading straight for the gaping cavern mouth, without slowing. As they neared the gaping hole in the landscape he thought, for a fleeting moment, he had caught the briefest flash of a very well camouflaged observation post on the outside of the cave's roof, and a soldier inside talking into a radio.

"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised at the progress we've made in eight months. Welcome to Lyngvi Garrison." Maddock said, with perfect timing that Taylor was sure came from having performed this glorified taxi and tour guide service several times previously. At the moment he'd said it, the Land Rover passed under the lip of the cave, headlights suddenly cutting into the gloom. The five former members of SG-27 in the back of the vehicle leaned forward to get a good look.

Taylor caught a glimpse of a steel walkway bolted to the cave wall high above them on his right, a solitary guard cradling an SA80 gazing back down at him. There seemed to be thick black cables running along the walls, and while he saw plenty of natural cave scenery, he also saw evidence of blasting and drilling. The trail was wet and muddy, but flat, wide and well travelled enough for the Land Rover to move swiftly through the brown sludge. The walls disappeared sharply and the expansive heart of the cavern hove into view.

"My God, it's immense…" Halverson breathed.

Taylor heard several gasps at the sheer scale of it all – he wasn't sure if one of them hadn't come from his own mouth.

"This is unbelievable...you could hide an aircraft carrier in here!" Llewellyn said excitably.

The air inside the cave was fractionally warmer than outside, but wetter. The musty smell mingled with that of freshly disturbed earth and diesel fumes, and the din of a busy construction site was drowned out by the now intensely loud, reverberating beat of the Chinook's rotors. The heavy lift helicopter was hovering over a raised metal platform, gently lowering the cargo net to the helipad as it's downwash caused the puddles of brown water in the mud to ripple. A number of soldiers, wearing fluorescent yellow vests and white hard hats over their DPMs, were bracing themselves against the artificial gale. The bright landing light flashed intermittently as the ground crew secured the load.

The truck ahead of them braked and turned off the makeshift road towards an offloading area occupied by forklifts and stacks of pallets. The cave was nowhere near as dim as Taylor had expected, but the light didn't feel like daylight, and he soon realised there were large floodlights bolted to the cave walls. As he watched, the load detached and the Chinook flew off, exiting the cave. The distinctive thump of it's engines receded, and the noise returned to the low level din of a dozen construction vehicles and shouted directions.

"Wow. Now that's worth a couple of billion quid." Halverson said.

"Bloody hell…" Jarvis murmured.

Llewellyn simply whistled under his breath.

Protruding from the far side of the cave wall, looking almost like it had been painstakingly excavated by some massive archaeological dig, was a large, incredibly tough looking concrete structure. Two huge hangar doors sat side by side and a brightly lit tunnel entrance sat next to these. Above them, he saw balconies carved from the rock, connected to more metal walkways and leading into small, dimly lit tunnels into the cave wall. Although inside a cave, it was like the Alpha Site, but on a slightly grander scale. In front of the structure, a large area of the cave floor had been flattened and turned into a huge concrete apron upon which sat dozens of vehicles, mostly of the construction variety. Piles of blasted granite sat alongside pallets of construction materials and arrays of steel girders.

"Okay…that's impressive. That's really impressive. How the hell did that get built so fast?" Taylor said.

"Well, firstly, we had the same construction crew that built the SGC's new Alpha Site, as well as a very large number of the MoD's preferred contractors, and even a few of the SGC's offworld allies. Secondly, there was already a very large cave system present under and in the hill, which made things a great deal easier. And thirdly…well, everything was fast-tracked and prioritised, with the design and construction crew given considerable degrees of authority and autonomy. Amazing what cutting bureaucrats out of the loop can do." Maddock said as the Land Rover sped across the concrete apron towards the concealed, heavily fortified base.

"You can't possibly have moved all this material, or these vehicles through the Stargate. The logistics of this must have been…ridiculous." Nesbitt said, awed.

"Oh no. We brought as much as possible through the gate, but most of it was delivered by the 304 fleet working on rotation – even the _Sun Tzu_ assisted when the IOA leaned on the Chinese government. In fact, the _Odyssey_ left orbit a few hours ago. Now, everybody ready for the grand tour?" Maddock said.

Although this was merely the front of the base, Lyngvi Garrison was a remarkable feat of engineering to Taylor's eyes. From orbit, the entire base would be virtually invisible, but the amount of excavation equipment and spill suggested the facility itself wasn't exactly small.

As the Land Rover drove into the left hand hangar, a huge, brightly lit chamber at least four stories high filled with equipment and vehicles, Taylor grinned. It barely mattered that they were sixty-three thousand light years from Earth, or that the reason for all of this was to combat an astonishingly deadly foe that may yet prove unstoppable. All that mattered to Taylor at this very instant was that the United Kingdom now had its very own Stargate Command.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Though it was clearly a storage chamber that had simply been hastily and crudely outfitted to serve as a waiting room, it was remarkably comfortable, especially after the rear-numbing cross country drive. Maddock had left them here while he and Taylor went to arrange their first meeting with the base's commanding officer.

"Okay, Martin, I have a question for you. Basically…why are so many bases always under a damn mountain?" Halverson said, staring at Nesbitt as he and Llewellyn devoured the contents of the 'light reading material' Maddock had left for them – a thick ring bound manual detailing the history, design and construction of the base.

"Actually, the geo team apparently like to call it the 'Tor', according to this." Nesbitt said happily, looking up from the book. "As for why…well, you couldn't wish for a better site for the base. You've got several hundred metres of solid granite on all sides, especially with the Tor directly above us. And being this far down has other benefits – for instance, they're looking into building a geothermal power plant at Site 03 to run the base in future, though that's way down the line."

"What's running it now? Naquadah generators?" Moffatt asked casually.

"Nope. Couldn't get Pentagon permission for those...least not on a permanent basis. So we've got a bank of mobile gas turbine generators, but we'll soon be getting a Rolls-Royce Core H Pressurised Water Reactor instead. They 'borrowed' it from the next Astute-class submarine. You could just about power Southampton with it!" Llewellyn said happily.

Halverson paused, untangling and translating the technical and military terms.

"Wait...are you telling me we're going to be sharing this base with a nuclear bloody reactor?" she said loudly.

"Elise, relax. Once they get Site 03 up and running, it'll be in a different cave around a mile and a half away. And we'll only be relying on it for a while anyway...at least until a more permanent solution than borrowing the heart of a Royal Navy sub can be found." Nesbitt said.

"Navy's doing their nut, according to some of these notes." Llewellyn said with a slight smirk on his face.

"Anyway, I've had a quick look at the geological survey. We've basically got a massive slab of granite hanging over us right now that should be able to take an unbelievable amount of punishment. The whole thing, the Tor and the cave system, is bloody tough and remarkably stable and as such, they say it should enjoy excellent protection from the elements and orbital strike." Nesbitt continued cheerfully.

Halverson frowned, and while Nesbitt didn't see as his eyes plunged back to the manual, Moffatt did, and leaned over from her seat, nudging Elise's arm.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm not sure I like the words 'enjoy' and 'orbital strike' in the same sentence." Halverson groaned. Moffatt grinned.

"Look at it this way." Nesbitt said. "There could be another raging blizzard up on the surface right now and we wouldn't know. More than a thousand feet of rock between us and the air above."

"See, that doesn't actually make me feel any better." Halverson said sarcastically.

Taylor walked into the room, closely followed by Maddock.

"He's ready for us now."

* * *

Most of the base differed significantly from the pattern of construction used for the SGC and almost every offworld base, consisting largely of tunnels of varying sizes simply cut out of the rock and left as exposed granite rather than walls of moulded, reinforced concrete. Taylor didn't know if it was simply an early phase of construction or if this was how the tunnels were intended to remain.

"Reminds me of the tunnels in the Rock of Gibraltar." Llewellyn said.

Other than construction equipment and supplies scattered everywhere, the base was austere. Apart from lights, occasional ventilation ducts hung from the ceiling and the odd power cable, each tunnel they walked through seemed mostly empty. Large parts of the facility seemed to be off limits and still very much under construction – they passed entire sections that were still pitch black, and the vast majority of the people they encountered were part of the construction crews.

"I'm not sure how to put this, Captain, but I don't see how this can become operational in a few days like you said. And I expected more, you know, people. Other than builders and electricians, that is." Taylor said. From the mumbles of agreement, he wasn't the only one with the same concerns.

"There may have been a few...hiccups." Maddock said, his tone somewhere between conspiratorial and apologetic. Before Taylor could answer, they turned a corner, faced with the first section of the facility that looked finished, evidenced by the doors, reinforced concrete wall and bright lighting.

"Here we are. Sir, SG-27 reporting for duty." Maddock said as he opened the double doors to reveal a large, well lit conference room dominated by a substantial table. There wasn't a single hint of exposed rock, and the walls were occupied by a variety of charts, maps, rosters and a pair of large display screens.

Taylor returned his attention to the conference room's sole occupant. Sat at the far end of the table was a hard faced man with a wiry build in Army barrack dress. He appeared to be in his late fifties, a balding head otherwise covered with black hair flecked with silver, his entire appearance and demeanour reinforcing the air of refined intimidation he gave off. He didn't react to their arrival, his eyes fixed to the form in front of him, a stack of paperwork next to him. Taylor immediately noticed the crown and three pips on the officer's shoulders.

"Sir!" he barked, saluting. Llewellyn, Jarvis and Moffatt instantly followed suit.

The officer briefly glanced up from his paperwork, surveying the new arrivals with cold, steel grey eyes, then looked back down at the file in front of him as if they were of no consequence, signing it swiftly.

"At ease. Sit down, all of you. No, this side. Captain Maddock, would you mind telling me where the other bloody team is? I was under the impression they arrived six hours ago." He said, his voice hard and commanding, his tone disinterested and humourless.

"I'll go and get them sir." Maddock said, nodding and leaving promptly, pulling the doors closed behind him.

The six members of Taylor's team quickly filled seats along one side of the table, but found themselves waiting for the officer to finish reviewing and signing a slew of forms. Just as Taylor was opening his mouth to say something, the doors opened again.

Of the six people who entered the room, four were in military dress, the other two in casual civilian clothes. Taylor recognised all of them instantly, nodding and smiling slightly at the tall black man leading them.

"SG-26 reporting for duty sir."

"No, you're not. Sit down, and I'll begin the briefing."

As Major Hamilton and his team found seats directly opposite Taylor's team, hiding the bemused expressions on their faces with varying degrees of success, the officer leaned back in his chair, fixing the two teams with a cold stare.

"I'm sure you've worked it out by now, but I'll say it all the same. I am the commanding officer of this facility, Brigadier James Webber. Let me get one thing straight right now – this is not Stargate Command, and you are no longer SG teams. Technically, this is still the Epsilon Site, at least until that sodding handover ceremony. To the British government, however, this is Project Vidar Site One – to the MoD, myself and the men and women in this command, it's Lyngvi Garrison."

There was a knock on the briefing room door, and a woman in a Royal Air Force uniform, her blonde hair scraped into a bun, walked in carrying a stack of identical files.

"Thank you, Sergeant." Webber said as she moved around the table, placing a file in front of each person seated.

"The SWRS, as I'm sure you're aware and as the files that Sergeant Gibson is handing you detail, has changed a great deal. It is not the small, experimental group attached to a US command it used to be. Now, it is a fully fledged armed force of the United Kingdom, albeit the smallest of the services."

Taylor looked over at Hamilton, both of them impressed.

"Officially, we're supposed to be a completely separate operation from the SGC. We all know we're going to be working closely with them, and that we'll be reliant on them for shipping supplies, personnel and the like, and we will of course be adopting several of their tried and tested systems largely in the interests of efficiency and interoperability, but there are some things we will do our own way. What that means is that while we will be using MALPs, IDCs and the US planetary naming protocol, we are not using the American designation system in use at the SGC. So, as of now, you're no longer SG-26 and SG-27. Instead, Major Taylor, you are now the commanding officer of 1 Lyngvi Reconnaissance. Major Hamilton, you're the CO of 2 Lyngvi Reconnaissance."

"Uh, Brigadier, sir…are you sure that's the right way around? I mean, Major Hamilton's team was the first…" Nesbitt said, tentatively.

"Yes, Dr Nesbitt, I'm sure." Webber said, fixing the physicist with a withering stare that made a Wraith handshake seem friendly by comparison. The Brigadier was clearly not a fan of being corrected or interrupted – especially by civilians, it seemed. Webber took a deep breath, and appeared to mellow slightly.

"So now we have our very own offworld base and Stargate program." Taylor said, smiling. Webber, however, was not.

"Major, understand that the United Kingdom just gave up its best chance of owning a 304 to pay for this operation...as well as losing the two as-yet unannounced Astute class subs and keeping the L85 in service into the 2020s. God only knows what the impact will be on our campaigns on Earth. None of this would exist had you not met the Fenrir, and we would have a ship by now." Webber said sternly. As the implications of Lyngvi Garrison's very existence began to set in, Webber continued.

"Just as well, really; bloody Air Force and Navy couldn't decide who'd get control of the damned thing if we _did_ get a 304."

Webber cleared his throat before continuing.

"Our mission here is to prevent a major Fenrir incursion into the Milky Way. That means eliminating the lot out there right now, and preventing the rest from exiting the Void Prison. Yes, corporal."

"Why us, sir? Isn't this more in the SGC's remit?" Moffatt asked.

"Why us? Have you even been paying attention to the interstellar political scene? Corporal, Stargate Command are currently spreading themselves thin across the whole sodding galaxy." The Brigadier began counting things off on his fingers angrily. "They're dividing their rather limited resources between combating the Lucian Alliance, supporting the Atlantis Expedition, eradicating kassa plantations, mopping up the mess of the Ori invasion – oh yes, that one still refuses to go away – and dealing with Goa'uld remnants and non-aligned Jaffa fundamentalists as they stick their heads up. And on top of all that, they've got that bloody Icarus Base fiasco to deal with, among other things." He growled.

Taylor considered this.

"When you put it like that, I expect the IOA practically bit General Bullock's hand off."

His reply was a simple grunt of affirmation from Webber.

"The stark reality of it all is that for the SGC, a thousand escaped werewolves are a low priority mission with disproportionate risks and resource demands attached, when held up against the bigger picture. They've done what they can, and admirably, but they have had no significant advances in months."

"However, for us, they are our one and only priority. The agreement with the IOA and the US Homeworld Command gives us jurisdiction over the Fenrir threat and a region of space roughly three thousand light years in diameter, centred on the Void Prison. This is not just another offworld base, this is a purpose built front line facility dedicated to a single, grim mission. The UK government are in an unenviable but unique position. Nobody else wants this job, and nobody else is willing to pay for it either."

Webber paused, a successful means of ensuring all eyes and all attention were focused on him.

"Our mission is simple – stop the Fenrir from becoming a major threat. Our mission is not, however, easy. Despite the swift construction of this base and the copious funding of the IOA and the UK government, we are in the same position as much of the British armed forces – we are woefully ill-equipped to execute our objective, especially since the MoD, in all its wisdom, ordered the operational start date be moved forward two months, regardless of the facts that this base was already a month behind schedule, three hundred and seventy million pounds over budget, and key personnel hadn't been even been briefed on the existence of the Stargate or prepared up to a week before being assigned here."

The last sentence had carried a degree of barely disguised venom, and Taylor found himself thinking it very likely Webber was talking as much about himself as any of the other personnel. It would certainly explain his attitude, and it sounded exactly like the kind of thing General Bullock would do, especially if he was being pressured to show results – indeed, Taylor and his team had been given very little time to prepare for their new posting.

"Right now this command has only two authorised offworld units – both of which are seated at this table. However, four more units will be stationed here before the end of the month, with others joining in the coming year if the MoD can clear it with General Turnbull at the Nevada Offworld Training Establishment. We have no ships, few allies, our base is half-finished, over-budget, barely operational and far behind schedule, and on top of all that we have precious little advanced technology at our disposal."

Hamilton smirked.

"Never stopped us before, sir."

"Quite. What I want to know from you is this: how the hell do we go about defeating these buggers? After the Battle of Lyngvi the SGC made sod all progress, most of the time coming across them by accident, and then nearly always too late. On the one occasion they directly encountered the Fenrir they lost most of an SG team. Only your team, Major," Webber said, indicating Taylor, "seems to have had any kind of repeat success with them – and then it was largely in terms of getting out alive. Now they've got a bloody warship and despite the best efforts of the Tok'ra, Jaffa and SGC intelligence we haven't got a clue where they might be or what they're doing. So, suggestions."

"We don't know anything about them, basically. What we need is intelligence, any scrap of information we can get on them." Hamilton said.

"True, but we can't exactly infiltrate their ranks, even if we bloody knew where to find them. Somehow I doubt they'll be fooled by squaddies in Halloween costumes." Webber replied dryly, resulting in a few chuckles.

"They're taking people, almost certainly too many to just be for food." Moffatt said, suppressing a shiver at the reality of that statement. "Presumably, they're building a slave labour force – SG-15 observed them doing this at least once, so they're likely to try again. So what if we infiltrated _them_?"

"Good idea, but too risky. The Fenrir take these people somewhere, and we don't know what happens to them once they cease to be useful. We don't yet have the resources to track or extract any team that goes undercover, and there are far too many unknowns and risks at this point. It puts us in a catch-22 situation: we need intelligence to know how to get intelligence, so that will have to be put on the back burner for a later date. But it is worth considering."

Halverson looked around the room.

"The Vanir. Our best bet for finding out anything about the Fenrir is the Vanir."

"Ah, yes. The Asgard faction. I'm given to understand we know next to nothing about this race as well; at least, nothing of practical value." Webber said.

"That's precisely my point. What we know is this: the Vanir fought the Fenrir thousands of years ago, and isolated them from the rest of the galaxy. At some point after that, the Vanir simply vanished. In over a decade of operation, the SGC never encountered a single reference, artefact or hint that there was another race or faction of Asgard."

"Well, we didn't find out there were Asgard living in Pegasus until last year." Nesbitt said.

"True. The Asgard in general seemed a lot more careful about what they left around than, say, the Ancients or the Goa'uld. But my point is there's nothing in the Asgard Legacy, either, and barely anything on the Fenrir beyond a single description of a bronze age race."

Taylor nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, you'd think there would be a warning of some description. Hell, just a sign next to their Stargate address saying 'Come no further, for death awaits you all with nasty big pointy teeth'."

Taylor smiled at his own joke, though he was the only one. Halverson glared at him briefly before continuing.

"Anyway...there must have been a good reason why they did what they did, and why they apparently vanished, and I'd bet a sufficient investigation into the Vanir would turn up no end of intelligence on the Fenrir."

Taylor frowned.

"Intelligence that will be ten thousand years old, give or take." He said.

"But it would give us a lot of context, background...the SGC has been using millennia old information – and artefacts – to fight battles for more than a decade. Let me ask all of you this." Halverson began, exasperated. "How much do we know about the Fenrir? I mean actually know. We built an entire offworld base specifically for the purpose of fighting an enemy that we know next to nothing about. We can't exactly ask one of them, and I'd think we've already used up our good luck when it comes to finding convenient artefacts filled with information on them."

"Your point, doctor?" Webber said tersely.

"Brigadier, I'd suggest making it a standing order for offworld units to look into the Vanir just as much as the Fenrir. They are more likely to be the key to understanding everything and giving us something to work with. And it stands to reason that if they had so much to do with the Fenrir, the best place to look is going to be this region of space. I mean, we already know there are certain myths common to this sector of the galaxy that revolve around wolves and the apocalypse...I can only think of one race that instilled those beliefs."

Webber mused on this, then nodded.

"Noted. You've made a convincing case – though right now, you are our only two offworld teams. The rest will be arriving within the next few weeks. Well, we have ideas to think about. Right now, we need to get this base operational and ready for the official handover in nine days."

Webber finished, and glanced around the table.

"And on that bombshell, I think we should conclude this briefing. Major Taylor, Captain Maddock will issue your team with the relevant identification, documentation and have you all logged on to the base computer and assigned quarters. After that, I suggest you all get some sleep to aid the adjustment to local time, then familiarise yourself with the base and your roles within it. In two days we have the _George Hammond_ arriving in orbit on a supply run, and the delivery and installation of the Stargate to contend with. Worse still, we've got to plan for a visit by a dozen MoD, DoD, IOA, and US and British government dignitaries. I'll take alien werewolves any bloody day of the week over them."

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Taylor knocked on the door.

"Yes."

Webber's office seemed to be larger than Landry's at the SGC, but it was also more isolated, with no windows and only the single door. It was also barely decorated beyond what was required for him to do his job – Taylor couldn't decide whether he thought that meant the Brigadier didn't place much stock in personal items, if they simply hadn't been shipped from Earth yet, or if the officer wasn't counting on staying long.

Turning, Taylor saw that Webber's office wasn't entirely undecorated. A row of badges sat on the wall next to the door. Immediately he recognised them as the constituents of the SWRS. He could see those of the British Army, Royal Navy and Royal Air Force along the top, while underneath sat those of individual regiments and units within the three services that had contributed the most to the personnel of the new service – among them the Royal Marines, Paras, SAS, SBS, SRR...but the largest badge, the one mounted most prominently in the centre of the entire display was one he didn't immediately recognise, which surprised him.

It was a sword, passing vertically through a Stargate and behind Earth's point of origin symbol. Underneath the gate was a banner declaring 'Stand firm'. Taylor allowed a slight grin onto his face – for the first time since it's inception, the Special Warfare and Reconnaissance Service had it's own badge.

"They only finalised the design a fortnight ago. I'm still not sure about the motto, but it hardly matters now. What do you want Major?" Webber said, barely looking up long enough from yet more paperwork to irritably indicate Taylor should take the seat in front of his desk.

"Just trying to get a better handle on the situation, sir. Things have moved so quickly, I'm still catching up. Less than a week ago I was sure my career was over, now I'm heading up the flagship unit of an SWRS that's barely recognisable to me. To be honest, I'm surprised it's me – Ham's got to be at least as capable, and a lot less..." Taylor searched for the right word.

"Controversial? Understand this. While I – and the MoD, I should add – am satisfied Major Hamilton's team have performed competently, I felt that your team was a better choice for the flagship unit of this command." he said, glancing at Taylor. "Mainly because you're the unit with the most experience with the Fenrir."

Taylor mulled it over. It made sense, and while he and Hamilton had enjoyed a strong working relationship since joining the Stargate Program, he allowed himself a tiny spark of smugness at suddenly taking the top spot.

"Understood. Still, there's so much I don't know about all of this. It's a little shocking."

Webber put his pen down and leaned forward.

"Major, one week ago I had never heard more than whispers of the Stargate program, nor did I have much of an idea – or care, if I'm honest – that there was life anywhere other than Earth. If you think you've had it tough, try having to learn about twelve years of classified ops and a galaxy of new politics that completely alter your world view in the space of a few days, in order to prepare for commanding a base on an alien bloody planet to fight _werewolves_."

"You got up to speed on the entire Stargate program and galactic politics in one week?" Taylor said, impressed and shocked.

"Anything can be accomplished if you're prepared to put your mind to it. Besides, there were primers, and I'll admit many of the finer details still elude me."

Webber glared at Taylor briefly, then seemed to reconsider something.

"I expect, however, you're more concerned with why the Ministry of Defence has changed it's mind about you so often and treated you the way it has. As I understand it Major, the MoD weren't entirely sure what to do with you, and by extension your team. I've heard several rumours that you came within a gnat's testicle of being kicked out of the Stargate program altogether. Your track record is simultaneously very impressive and very disturbing. I can see why you were chosen for UK Stargate operations...I can also see why you were quickly dropped from them."

"Could you elaborate?" Taylor said, carefully minding his tone. Again, Webber glared at him for a second, then retrieved a file from his desk. The slightly worn edges and ease with which he found it suggested it was frequently read and referred to, and when Taylor glanced at the inverted title, he saw it was his own personnel file. He started to feel a little uneasy.

"From what I've read, I believe you have demonstrated exceptional – and I do not use the term lightly – tactical ability, in both planning and execution. You were singled out from a pool of fifty-seven candidates largely because of your initiative, your talent for adapting readily to even the most challenging and unconventional of situations and for being extremely resourceful. Clearly these are all qualities needed in Stargate field operations."

Taylor was slightly surprised at Webber's glowing appraisal of his skills.

"However, those same qualities can be read as problematic – your command style unnerves some of the higher-ups, you make sweeping decisions with little thought for the bigger picture...frankly, as I'm sure you damn well know, you should have been promoted to Major years before you were inducted into the SWRS."

"I had suspected as much."

"Your team were kept on active stand-down more as a contingency than anything else, given the problems putting the new teams through training. Had General Bullock had his way, you would most certainly be looking for work in the security or PMC fields right now, despite some of the problems I understand we've had with them recently. As it is, you have some supporters on both sides of the Atlantic who defended your actions and were able to keep you on in some form – despite our frequent issues, British and American forces work well together, so we have a number of people in the Pentagon who'll fight for us. I know that you were kept out of the loop deliberately – apparently it was considered unlikely that any of you would be hopping through the gate for much longer. What you turned up a while back on, ah, P2…"

"P2C-355?" Taylor prompted after a few seconds.

"Hmm. What you found there eventually convinced General Bullock's department that you were of some use to Project Vidar, but the official line is that the cost and difficulty of building this base made simultaneously running an operation out of the SGC untenable."

"With respect, sir, that's – "

"Utter rubbish. I know. However, since it was never certain you would be returning to the SGC, it was felt you didn't need to know about any of these developments – and I mean you in particular, Major, and the rest of your team by extension, since to many you are personally to blame for the Fenrir crisis."

Taylor opened his mouth to protest, but quickly thought better of it. Webber, however, seemed to notice.

"Truth be told, I'm inclined to side with them going by what I've read. Because of your reckless behaviour and misplaced priorities, the IOA is now faced with yet another dire threat to all life in the galaxy. However, I also recognise that your actions gave us vital early warning of the Fenrir threat and a chance, no matter how slim, to do something about it. But your methods left much to be desired. I expect you to perform your duties in _this_ command with greater understanding of what is at stake."

Taylor nodded sombrely.

"I'm aware other members of your team were allowed to remain with the Stargate Program in other capacities, at least for a short time. So here you are. As for how you're here…it's quite simple. I'm sure you don't need telling how persuasive General Bullock can be when he puts his mind to it. In short, he successfully convinced the IOA, the Prime Minister and the Pentagon, in that order, that the United Kingdom had to take responsibility for the Fenrir situation, given that we caused it. The result is this." Webber said, indicating the base with a small movement of his hand.

Turning back to his paperwork, something occurred to Webber just as Taylor began to rise out of the seat. The Brigadier's tone changed.

"This operation, this base, the entire SWRS...it has fierce opposition, and not just in our government. You see this paperwork? I'm drowning in it – the whole damn base is drowning in it, and it's been done on purpose. Our operational date was revised – brought forward by _three months._ Somebody, and I don't yet know who, is putting every obstacle they can muster in our way. Somebody is determined to see us fail, and I don't know why. This concerns me. Despite our task being so monumentally important, we are being set up to fail, probably to satisfy somebody's political agenda, with every possible obstacle placed in our path to ensure we do not succeed. We've been given a deadline."

"Sir?"

"In nine days, a swarm of IOA bureaucrats are going to traipse through the Stargate. The reason I've been told they're coming is to witness and participate in the handover ceremony to see this facility become officially operational and officially British, but I am damn well aware they are also coming to inspect this place from top to bottom and to scrutinise everything we do. If we have not begun to carry out Stargate operations by the time they arrive, we will in all likelihood be shut down on the spot. Frankly, Major, I requested your presence on this base, against the 'recommendation' of General Bullock, because we are so desperately short of experienced personnel. I need your expertise to get this facility ready to send people we don't have through a Stargate that isn't installed yet, using weapons and equipment we can't buy because we're over-budget and drowning in bureaucratic bull. On top of that, you are to assist me in cutting through this bloody red tape. We need to have at least one team offworld, and soon. Nine days, Major, or we're all going to be back on Earth with no hope of defeating the Fenrir."

* * *

"Attention all personnel – the Stargate is now in transit. Estimated time to arrival is forty minutes. Sections B through G are to be evacuated and sealed by sixteen hundred Zulu. Critical personnel, report to your designated stations. Non-essential personnel must remain out of mission critical areas until otherwise advised. Off-duty personnel are advised to remain in their quarters for the duration of the installation. We are now at alert level amber."

Sergeant Gibson's announcement over the PA system had the desired effect. Although the base's staff knew of the importance of the Stargate installation, and had been preparing for it for some time, the announcement generated a flurry of activity. The small number of blast doors that had been installed were sealed, choke points were manned by the few guards present and construction crews downed tools. Everybody was all too aware that the base would be at it's most vulnerable during the installation. Nobody was taking any chances.

With a light machine gun in his hands, Jarvis stood in the large tunnel that threaded through the entire facility, allowing surface access from the cavern destined to hold the Stargate. Alongside him were a dozen other soldiers, all waiting for the large, heavy steel door set in the wall to retract. This would be his first proper look at the cavern that would shortly become home to the Stargate. He'd caught fleeting, shadowed glimpses of it in the few days since arriving at the Garrison, but now he was about to enter it and see it properly for the first time. Clutching the Minimi and feeling the almost comforting weight of his Osprey body armour and webbing, he and the rest of the defence team stepped forward as the heavy, rumbling door slid into the recessed compartment in the cave wall.

"Blimey." he muttered as he gazed around the chamber.

The roughly elliptical cavern was easily large enough to fit an Olympic swimming pool with plenty of room to spare, its walls and high, naturally arched ceiling composed of craggy, mottled grey rock. The floor, however, was clearly artificial – a perfectly level and unbroken expanse of concrete, with the odd exception of a deep and wide trench extending several metres from the far wall. It put him in mind of an oversized mechanic's inspection pit. The metal rig sat in the end of the trench closest to him – clearly designed to hold something heavy, round and upright – gave him a good idea of its intended use.

Almost a dozen people occupied the cavern's floor, most of them engineers, scientists and technicians. The majority of them wore hard hats and high visibility vests, some milling around waiting for the large hangar-style door in the left wall of the cave to open again, this time to admit the Stargate. Others shouted frantically to each other as they tried to finish last minute adjustments to the gate's cradle and the three huge power lines occupying the trench behind it. Several of them wielded angle grinders, showers of sparks cascading off the mount and skittering across the floor while others yelled angrily and urgently to each other.

"Bit big, isn't it?" Jarvis said, indicating the whole cave as he sidled up to Nesbitt. He stepped carefully over the black cables that seemed to snake everywhere across the floor. Much like the rest of the base, the entire cavern had a distinctly unfinished feel to it, from the mobile trailer mounted floodlights in each corner to the sheer lack of combat shelter beyond a few pallets of construction materials and crates stacked along the cave walls. A crude mezzanine level that circled the room had been formed from metal walkways bolted to the rock several metres off the ground, but as yet it lacked any kind of guard rail or cover. Nevertheless, Jarvis could see soldiers with SA80s slowly patrolling it.

"As I understand it, they didn't have much choice – it's the best of the really deep caves, the rock is incredibly tough and stable, and the next cave along is a wee bit damp. Besides, did you ever hear of the problems the SGC had moving large items through the gate?"

"No." Jarvis said. It was an answer clearly intended to cut short this particular thread of the conversation, but Nesbitt either didn't notice or wasn't being shut up that easily.

"When they had to send that rocket to K'tau, they came close to knocking down walls and remodelling everywhere to do it. Hell, they even briefly considered taking the gate out of the mountain and temporarily setting up at Vandenburg. Somehow, I don't think we'd have the same problem here. I mean, look at all this space!" Nesbitt said, grinning.

Jarvis merely grunted in response, carefully noting the number of soldiers in the room and their positions. He felt edgy – though the Stargate now had an Iris, it had to be left open during the installation so the gate could be more easily carried and manoeuvred into position, all the while leaving the base extremely vulnerable to attack by the Fenrir.

"I'd have thought there would be more people for this kind of job." Jarvis said after a while. Nesbitt nodded in grim agreement.

"If I'm honest Colin, I'm not looking forward to this...Gareth was telling me we don't have half the personnel or equipment we really should have for the operation, but the MoD's breathing down our necks to get the Stargate installed ASAP, way ahead of schedule." Nesbitt said in what would have been a conspiratorial whisper had he not had to raise his voice over the din of the engineers with angle grinders making last minute adjustments to the Stargate mount.

"Yeah, well, this whole op isn't looking half as slick as it first did."

"Tell me about it. I mean, I'm incredibly happy to be made head of the research department, and to have my own lab and everything...I just wished the department consisted of more than just me and a temporary assistant. And that the lab currently had doors, network access and electricity. But I'm sure that'll all be sorted soon enough. Still, wish I could tell my son."

"Yeah, well, I wish I could still watch the bloody football." Jarvis moaned.

He turned and looked at Nesbitt as something occurred to him.

"Head of research, huh? Not bad."

Nesbitt simply grinned. From Jarvis, that was the equivalent of being grabbed in a congratulatory bear hug or having your hand excitably shaken until it was sore.

"Where's Dave? I'd have thought he'd want to see this." Nesbitt asked.

"The Major's busy. Wanting to see it and being able to see it are two very different things, especially given his workload. Last I heard, he was – "

He was cut off by the roar of a powerful diesel engine in the adjoining tunnel, and slowly the large metal door began to slide open.

"Bloody hell, that's a big truck..." Nesbitt said, staring at the angular, solid-looking dark olive drab vehicle that had pulled up alongside the now open door, the Stargate held upright on it's flatbed trailer.

"Oshkosh 1070F. It's a tank transporter." Jarvis said with barely any interest as a heavy duty forklift truck approached the upright ring.

"Well...if you'll excuse me, I'm actually supposed to be in the control room, working on interfacing the dialling computer. This," Nesbitt said, gesturing to the Stargate and everybody milling around, "is more of an engineering job than scientific. At least until they're ready for the power lines."

"Dialling computer? I thought we had a DHD." Jarvis said, confused. He glanced up - high on the right wall of the cave was the control room, still largely under construction, it's slanted, mesh-reinforced windows providing a good but relatively safe view of the entire cavern.

"We do, but it, ah, took a few hits during what they're calling the Battle of Lyngvi and now works somewhat erratically. Besides, dialling computer offers plenty of benefits over a DHD, especially for this kind of set-up."

"So...why do they need you for the power lines? Isn't that 'just' engineering too?"

Nesbitt gave him a slightly bemused, quizzical look.

"You don't know?"

"Obviously not. Know what?" Jarvis said, scowling.

Nesbitt took a deep breath, his mood visibly dropping.

"The Ministry of Defence want the Stargate capable of dialling in to the Void Prison again."

The enormity of the statement took a moment to sink into Jarvis' mind.

"Wait...what? They actually want to be able to send us through to Werewolf Central?" Jarvis said, shocked.

"I'm afraid so. It's not something we'll be doing lightly, I suppose, not least because until we get Site 03 up and running we're barely going to be able to generate the power for dialling the Prison – it'll be a hell of a lot easier once we get the reactor. But according to Webber, it's an option we have to have. And since I'm the bloke who worked out how it did this and how the Vanir reactor connected to the Stargate originally...guess what."

Jarvis grunted again. Realising that was what passed for an impressed response with the red-headed Royal Marine, Nesbitt nodded to himself and headed for the metal steps leading first to the crude mezzanine and then the control room itself.

For the next half an hour, Jarvis watched with undisguised boredom as the Stargate was lowered and manoeuvred at an achingly slow pace by the forklift into the extremely solid looking mount, waved into position by a team of extremely stressed Royal Engineers that looked too small for the operation in hand.

Far too small, Jarvis realised hurriedly.

The Stargate dropped. It didn't have far to fall, and by some miracle it stayed upright, but when twenty-nine metric tonnes of naquadah drops unexpectedly, it doesn't go unnoticed. As the gate slammed into the waiting steel rig with an incredibly loud clunk, something metallic underneath it made a stuttering groaning noise and promptly sheared off explosively. The engineers clustered around the gate were already running and shouting, but by the way at least one of them was doubled over and clutching his chest, the man next to him yelling frantically, they hadn't escaped unscathed.

Swearing under his breath, Jarvis ran to the intercom and pressed the button.

"Medical team to the gate...cave."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

There was no sign on, above or alongside the open door to confirm it, but the presence of large boxes full of books and angry muttering from within the room strongly suggested she was in the right place.

"Settling in okay?" Moffatt said cheerfully, smiling to reinforce the point. She winced as she quickly realised it was precisely the wrong thing to say in the worst tone possible.

Halverson was standing in the middle of a chaotic scene with a distinctly unimpressed and somewhat harried expression on her face. Piles of documents, textbooks, notebooks and rolled up charts filled the desk, shelves and floor around her, while the supplied metal shelving was still mostly bare.

"What do you think?" she snapped, shuffling through the books in her arms and irritably dropping two of them on the desk and swearing at a third.

"Okay, what's up?"

Halverson's head whipped around, fixing a glare at the medic.

"I can't find anything, Kelly. I mean, when I got the message we were being recalled to the SGC, I packed all my research material in record time – and now I can't find a damn thing, and I swear half of it's still back on Earth. In Oxford, no less! Seconds to travel sixty-three thousand light years and eight hours for the transatlantic flight."

Slowly, Moffatt moved into the room, picking her way carefully through the mess. She got the impression there was a subtle, highly complex system behind what otherwise seemed to be random piles of books and papers, and dare not provoke Halverson's wrath by spilling a crucial stack of notes onto the floor.

"Well, look on the bright side. This room is one hell of an improvement on your broom cupboard at the SGC." Moffatt said, forcing a smile.

"Yes, but I've just spent the last four months sharing my time between Oxford University and NTNU, and compared to them..."

Moffatt sighed, and tried to shuffle a small box further onto the desk so she could perch on the edge, careful not to disrupt the bizarre arrangement.

"Elise...why do I get the feeling there's more to this than office space and missing books?"

Halverson sighed, slumped slightly, and looked around for a chair. Seeing one buried beneath a box filled with files and papers, she casually pushed the boxes off until they crashed onto the floor and spilling their contents, the wave of documents and notes tipping two more piles over in the process. The chair freed, she sat down heavily, propping an elbow on the corner of the desk and resting her head in her hand.

"Fine. You win. I think I was happier back there. I mean, I got so sick of being messed around when it came to the SGC and the SWRS, I found I actually liked returning to my old research. Kelly, they treated us like crap, like human yo-yos to be bounced between active duty and suspension. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud to be part of something as big and meaningful as the Stargate program, and I recognise the enormity of the threat, the amazing opportunities we get to discover and explore and meet long lost human cultures and just experience something so huge and...I don't know."

She paused, one hand on her hip, the other massaging her forehead as if she was getting a headache, and after a few deep breaths with her eyes closed, she began speaking again, her voice calmer and slower.

"I get how incredibly important our work is Kelly, but still...there's a lot to be said for quietly and leisurely working on smaller, less life threatening projects. No combat, no threat of death by alien werewolves, no more being suspended for months at a sodding time while the MoD and IOA screw with our lives and careers...you know?"

Gazing at the floor, Moffatt nodded slowly.

"I do, Elise. I really do. And that's still not it."

"Damn it, Kelly, could you just take one day off from being Miss Observation 2009?" Halverson snapped, slapping the desk in irritation before snatching up a lone textbook near her hand. She stood up in exasperation, eventually throwing the final book down so hard it bounced off the desk and landed on the floor, it's pages open. She rubbed her forehead more vigorously, her jaw muscles pulsing as she glared at Moffatt.

Moffatt's expression didn't change in the slightest as she stared impassively at Halverson. As the stand-off began to turn into a full stalemate, Halverson relented.

"Okay! Christ, you should have been a detective. I just...I feel incredibly cut off here. Back at the SGC, I had access to the most incredible database of anthropological, historical and archaeological information known to man, not to mention the Internet. I had a dozen or so colleagues I could discuss things with - even Jackson, if I was really, _really_ desperate - and to be honest, most importantly of all...I could phone my brother any time I wanted. God, I've only been here a few days, and you wouldn't believe how much I already miss being able to talk to him nearly every day, even with transatlantic time differences. I need family around me, Kelly, and I can't have that here."

"I think I understand. But, look - you know that once the Stargate's installed we get weekly contact with the SGC to send and receive emails, right?"

"Yes, I know, but it's really not the same. I can't just pick up the phone and talk to him. I don't have much family left, and everything we've seen out there, the dangers and the horrors we know are coming...family suddenly becomes incredibly important."

Moffatt nodded, and began to say something, until the base PA went off and she heard a familiar Mancunian voice.

"Medical team to the gate...cave."

"Damn it!" she exclaimed as she rushed out of the room, scattering papers and books as she went.

* * *

Lyngvi's surface was significantly more inhospitable than usual. Thick sheets of ice cold rain were being blown in sideways by the wind, and the sky was a turbulent and threatening ceiling of dark grey cloud – near the horizon a silent stuttering flash of lightning briefly illuminated the distant hills. Seconds later, there was a loud crack and a deep rumbling noise rolled over the landscape. The heather swayed and rippled violently as the gale tore at the planet's surface.

"You sure you want to be up here?" Halverson called over the roar of the tempest, pulling the thick military issue winter jacket tighter around herself as she walked closer to the storm.

"I just needed a breath of fresh air, and you can't get fresher than storm air. Besides, it's paradise compared to what faces me down there – trust me." Taylor said. He was quiet for a moment, staring at the rain-soaked land stretching away in front of him and listening to the peals of thunder before speaking in a lighter tone. "I'm wishing I'd had some idea of what to expect when my orders arrived – if I'd known they were posting me to this planet, I'd have seen about shipping my Land Rover up here."

Halverson smiled and shook her head.

"Dave, they wouldn't even let Martin bring his cat. Besides, somehow I think even if they allowed it, the fees for bringing the best part of three tonnes of personal property to an alien world on the other side of the galaxy by _Daedalus_-class would be kind of prohibitive. And I don't even want to consider the price of diesel out here." Halverson said lightly. Taylor smiled.

"I could always get it shipped piece by piece through the SGC and get Llewellyn to rebuild it here. Pass it off as 'care packages'."

"Not a chance. You honestly think you could get it past Harriman and Siler? No, you just don't earn enough to bribe them Dave."

"Shame. It'd be great to tool around this kind of landscape. Maybe not in this sort of weather...but, then again, maybe this is ideal weather. Still, at least I've got a Monty Python boxset to keep me entertained."

"Meh. I'm more of a Black Books person myself." Halverson said.

"Also good."

For a while, they simply looked out on Lyngvi's weather-beaten surface. The small, sheltered cave entrance they were gazing out of sat almost directly above the gaping maw of the cavern that had swallowed a Chinook with ease. The crate serving as a table and canvas seats showed that it was already serving as an impromptu observation post when the personnel could be spared to man it, a reasonably well protected and surprisingly well hidden place from which to defend the Garrison from external attack. Taylor vaguely recalled Nesbitt mentioning that potential future plans called for manned rail gun turrets to be placed around the Garrison's surface entrance – given that the base contained the only known means of accessing the Prison, there was a worryingly good chance of the planet being attacked from orbit by the Fenrir. But for now, in the absence of funds, sufficient personnel or adequate weaponry, the smaller caves riddling the Tor and the surface above the Garrison were being left undeveloped.

"You actually love this, don't you?" Halverson said with a sly grin, nodding towards the storm raging a few metres away from them. "Other people dream of Mediterranean holidays or Caribbean beaches...but you prefer furious elements and hostile landscapes. I bet that's why you climb mountains, isn't it? You just like to beat nature."

Taylor shook his head and smiled gently.

"No, not to beat it. To experience it. To be honest Elise, I find this relaxing...focusing, even."

"I think I'm starting to understand you now. A bit, anyway. It's only taken me about a year." Halverson said, gazing as more lightning flashed in the distance.

"Hey, 'Inscrutable' is my middle name."

"Huh. I thought it was James. Dave, what's wrong?" Halverson asked.

"How's everybody doing? I haven't had much of a chance to check on them myself, except in a professional capacity."

Grudgingly accepting the abrupt change in the direction of the conversation, Halverson nodded and began ticking things off on her fingers.

"Well let's see, Colin's moaning about the lack of decent defences, the state of the base and the appalling lack of FHM magazines and football coverage. Kelly's being her usual relentlessly upbeat self but says the state of the infirmary is a bad joke and it's scary being the CMO, even if it's only temporary. As for the others...last I heard, Martin's trying to get hold of night vision goggles so he can actually work in his lab even though there isn't anything to work on or with, and to be completely honest I haven't seen Gareth since the engineering team swallowed him up a few days ago."

"And you?" Taylor asked.

"Holding up. Mainly by hoarding the base's chocolate supply and biting people's heads off at the slightest provocation."

"So, business as normal, basically."

"Pretty much. Now, enough evasion and deflection Dave, tell me what's wrong."

Taylor exhaled deeply.

"Apparently...everything. We may actually be in a worse condition for fighting the Fenrir than when we were at the SGC. This is supposed to be a battalion strength outfit, and since the _Hammond_ left with the US and UK defence contingents, we've barely got seventy people on site. Right now, we can't use our Stargate and we've already got a man in the infirmary because we're so understaffed there was nobody to see the gate wasn't aligned properly with it's cradle. Damn chunk of metal just sheared off and smacked him in the chest."

"Ouch." Halverson winced.

"Moffatt's report says he'll pull through. Could have been a lot worse – and a lot, lot messier – if it had hit him edge on."

"Thanks for the image. So, basically, you're saying our base is a construction site slash death trap, and as yet, we don't have a hell of a lot of people."

"Or weapons. Or facilities. Or, well, anything. Webber's got me helping him out with the insane weight of paperwork he's got to deal with. I mean, seriously, you wouldn't believe how much there is. Oh, and I'm supposed to plan our first offworld recce, which has to happen in the next few days."

Halverson nodded understanding, but remained silent.

"Long story short, there's too much to do and too little time to do it. Since you, Nesbitt and Moffatt have become department heads with big workloads - even if it's temporary for Moffatt - I've decided...I'm going to bump Ham's team up the roster, give him the first mission – assuming the gate's installed in time for him to scout P7S-267. At this rate we'll be shoving him through the wormhole about ten seconds before the VIPs arrive."

Halverson snorted, chuckling at the image.

"On top of that...I found out from Webber why they dropped us like a hot potato after the 355 mission. We were a political liability...or more accurately, I was, and they couldn't replace me. More to the point, I think I know who ordered SG-27 disbanded."

"And?" Halverson asked, not sure if she wanted to know.

Taylor turned to face her directly.

"Bullock." he said gravely.

Halverson scowled.

"That miserable old goat. I can't say I'm remotely surprised, Dave."

"You know he's the reason you're out here?"

"Oh no." Halverson said, smiling humourlessly while she shook her head and wagged her finger. "Don't for one second tell me to be grateful to him for allowing me to be part of the Stargate program. We're all just means to an end for him and you know it. He's got some sort of an agenda, something that makes me uncomfortable, and you know damn well he'd drop any and all of us in a flash if it suited him."

Taylor turned back to the storm.

"You've noticed that too, huh?" he said, concerned and puzzled. "I can't work it out. After we went into the Prison and first met the Fenrir, he fought like a demon to keep us operating, made out we were heroes. The moment we stop serving his agenda we get dropped, forgotten and trampled underfoot. I just can't work out why he's trying so hard – first he's making sure we're one of the top three nations supporting Atlantis ops with supplies, funding and IOA backup, then it's ensuring the UK has SGC field teams. He blew his top over Glastonbury – "

"Ah, well, there I'm with him."

"Why? There was sod all we could have done with the stuff and it would have gone to the US eventually."

Halverson looked uncertain.

"It's more on principle. There should have been a few Brits there at least."

Taylor shook his head. It was an argument he'd had before, and was keen to avoid again.

"Point is, now we've got nothing short of a major offworld base, not to mention jurisdiction over a whole sector of the galaxy and a pretty damn serious threat. There's something he wants really badly, some reason he's going out of his way to ensure we have a tangible and permanent presence in the Stargate program."

"I dunno. Maybe he's trying to make sure that when the Stargate goes public people see the UK as one of the major players. Or maybe he's a Goa'uld trying a new approach to becoming a System Lord." Halverson said, smiling. They both chuckled, but stopped very quickly.

Between the Earth operations of both the Trust and later Ba'al, the idea seemed unsettlingly plausible. IOA investigations into Goa'uld infiltration had focused almost exclusively on the big three players in offworld activities - the United States, Russia and China. Britain was at once both insignificant enough to effectively hide and powerful and influential enough to be of some use to a megalomaniacal alien parasite. It wasn't impossible.

For a while, they were both quiet, staring at the rain and wind-lashed landscape.

"Hey, anyway, you think you've got problems? Two days before they told me I'd be spending the next _year_ offworld I bought a new mobile phone on a twelve month contract. That's thirty quid a month down the drain! And I forgot to cancel Sky HD. Come on, I need a cup of tea."

Taylor couldn't help but laugh as Halverson lead the way back to the relative warmth of the Garrison's tunnels.

* * *

"Right now, we've got every available engineer working round the clock to repair the mounting rig and work out how to install the Stargate without putting another sapper in what passes for our infirmary. I'm told the rig can be repaired fully with what we have on base, but it will take time. At this moment, the gate itself is propped up on one side of the grotto-"

As they walked through the tunnel, dodging a cluster of arguing electricians and stacks of construction supplies, Webber turned to Taylor.

"Grotto?" the Brigadier asked.

"It's what some of the men are calling the gatehouse, sir. Right now the Stargate is just leaning against a wall waiting to be installed."

"What about defence?" Webber asked, concerned.

"Well the good news is it's Iris is closed, which, fortunately is how it'll stay until the gate is hooked up to the power lines...which might be another issue. Both Doctor Nesbitt and Lieutenant Llewellyn have some concerns about hooking the gate up to the grid in its current state, something about it drawing too much power for the generators we've got at the moment to handle – especially if the Void Prison's involved. Also, Nesbitt's gone as far as he can with the dialling computer - he needs the Stargate installed to complete the task."

Webber grunted unhappily, ducking to avoid a bunch of low-hanging electrical cables.

"And the injured man?" he asked. The tone indicated he really didn't want to know.

Hurriedly, Taylor checked the crumpled, dog-eared paperwork in the folder he was carrying. He had a new found respect for Maddock's job – administration and paperwork just wasn't in his blood.

"Uh, Sapper Lee McAlister has severe bruising on the left side of his torso, but so far there have been no complications so we probably won't need to evacuate him to the SGC. Lieutenant Llewellyn says they should be ready to try the install again in two days, maybe a little sooner if we get lucky."

Webber sighed.

"It's not good enough. Listen to me Major, I don't care if it stays propped up and you end up ordering Private Benson to stand at the top of the Tor holding a lightning rod while Sergeant Jarvis dials manually, I want that bloody gate operational ASAP. We have less than a day before the IOA party is due."

* * *

"Incoming travellers. IDC recognised – it's Stargate Command, on schedule. I'm retracting the Iris, sir." Sergeant Gibson announced.

"If you must." Webber muttered to himself, reluctantly turning from the map table in the centre of the control room to look down at the floor of the gate cave. The blades of the Iris retracted, revealing the glowing blue puddle. He was surprised to find that Taylor hadn't been exaggerating when he said the engineers had been working around the clock. They had worked for nearly thirty-three hours straight to rebuild the heavy steel rig, move the ancient alien ring into position - with extra assistance to ensure there wasn't a repeat performance of the last minor disaster - and attach the three heavy duty power cables that filled the trench behind it.

Webber had been quietly impressed, even more so with some of the civilians. He knew Dr Nesbitt had worked professionally, efficiently and furiously alongside Sergeant Gibson to finalise the dialling computer's integration with the Stargate even as the engineers were still welding the gate clamps in place. He had paused for all of thirty seconds before heading to the cave floor to oversee the difficult and delicate task of attaching the power cables to the remains of the Vanir reactor's attachment point.

Looking at the perfectly functional and neatly installed Stargate, it was hard to believe that only four hours ago it had been leaning against the cave wall while sappers and contractors argued and sprinted about the place.

"Stargate Command, this is Lyngvi Gate Control. Iris retracted, you are clear to proceed." Gibson said into her headset as she checked readouts and pressed controls.

"Roger that, Lyngvi." Harriman's distinctive voice answered from the other side of the Milky Way. Webber opened the door to the walkway and stairs outside the control room and made his way to the cave floor, smoothing his dress uniform.

With half a dozen neatly turned out SA80-armed guards standing in formation behind him and Captain Maddock next to him, Webber stood with his hands clasped behind his back in front of the Stargate as the dignitaries walked through the gate with varying degrees of confidence and across the broad concrete floor. Only a handful of them had previously travelled via Stargate before today – one of them quite obviously.

The silver haired head of Homeworld Command and living legend of the Stargate Program stepped casually through the gate looking somewhat uncomfortable in full dress uniform, closely followed by Major Davis carrying a briefcase.

"General O'Neill, a pleasure to finally meet you sir." Webber said, standing to attention.

"Likewise, Brigadier…likewise." O'Neill said uncertainly, casting a frowning glance at the rest of the dignitaries coming through the gate before gazing at the craggy, dark grey rock of the cavern walls and ceiling, taking in the overhead walkways, floodlights and power lines.

"Nice place you've got here."

"We like to think so. Believe me, it took a lot of work."

"Hey, at least you got your gate working. We were starting to get worried there. Almost had Carter turn the _Hammond_ around for a fly-by to make sure you were okay."

"Working, yes. Working well...is another story." Webber said dryly. O'Neill smirked.

The next person through the gate was someone Webber knew only too well, and frequently wished he didn't.

"Sir." He said, saluting smartly at the sight of the familiar green uniform and the typical sour expression on the weathered face.

Major-General Sir Richard Bullock was the ambitious, determined and very persuasive man ultimately responsible for the existence of a British Stargate program, and directly responsible for the creation of an offworld base under British command, but that didn't do anything for his unpleasant personality and unpopularity on both sides of the Atlantic. Webber could see that O'Neill clearly felt the same way.

The rest of the dignitaries made their way slowly through the gate, congregating around the Brigadier and two Generals. O'Neill and Bullock introduced the US and UK delegations respectively.

"Brigadier James Webber, I'd like to introduce you to James Coolidge, IOA representative for the United States, Ellen Swain, Department of Defence, and I believe you already know Major Davis." O'Neill said happily, gesturing to each one in turn.

"This is Douglas Moore, Ministry of Defence, Sir Dennis Melford, also MoD, Karen Bastable, Treasury, Russel Chapman, UK IOA representative, and Group Captain Ian Trevithick. I want to get started as soon as possible." Bullock said tersely, striding towards the open hatch in the rock face. Webber simply stared past him and gritted his teeth as the general headed out of the grotto, snapping mercilessly at a helpful soldier that he already knew the bloody way to the briefing room.

"Let the fun begin…" O'Neill murmured with a sly grin.

"Shoot me now. I'll even sign a pistol out for you." Webber muttered in response as he turned to the remaining group of bureaucrats and politicians, all impeccably dressed in expensive, tailored suits and staring at him expectantly.

"Well…I was going to say we've laid on a small reception for you to meet some of the base personnel, followed by a brief tour of the facility. If you'll follow me."

* * *

The briefing room was the only furnished room large enough to hold the party of officials without feeling cramped or walking them through dangerous construction zones to the other side of the facility. The base's chefs had laid out a decent spread, while at the far end of the room stood four flagpoles, between them bearing a Union Flag, the Stars and Stripes, the symbol of the United States Air Force and the Sword-and-Stargate badge of the Special Warfare and Reconnaissance Service. Standing in a line in front of the flags were six smartly dressed people. The four in military dress uniforms came to attention sharply as Bullock, Webber and O'Neill entered the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to the members of this command's premier unit. Major David Taylor, Second Lieutenant Gareth Llewellyn, Sergeant Colin Jarvis, Corporal Kelly Moffatt, Doctor Martin Nesbitt and Doctor Elise Halverson." Webber said, gesturing to each in turn.

"So, you're the ones to blame for costing us three and a half billion pounds." Bastable said loudly, her voice professional but carrying a trace of acid. Taylor knew straight away how uncomfortable this meeting was going to get, squirming in his dress uniform.

"With good reason, I'd say."

"That, Major, is at best debatable, at worst insultingly ridiculous." Sir Melford said tersely as he walked past. Taylor squirmed again, resisting the urge to open his suddenly too-tight collar.

"You've begun Stargate operations?" Chapman asked Webber under his breath as the other dignitaries moved forward to meet Taylor and his team.

"They commenced this morning. We have a team offworld right now."

"Good. That'll score you some points, and I'm afraid you're going to need every single one you can get. I'll do what I can, but the next few days are going to be difficult, to say the least." Chapman whispered before walking up to shake hands and swap small talk with the team.

"What do you call yourselves? As a unit, I mean." Moore asked lightly in a valiant attempt to improve the mood of the room.

"1 Lyngvi Reconnaissance, sir." Moffatt responded, smiling.

"Isn't that a bit of a mouthful? Besides, what the hell kind of a name for a team is that?" O'Neill said. Despite his dry delivery, it was enough to start defusing the tense atmosphere that had already developed in the room.

"Well, if you prefer, you could just call us 1LR." Taylor said, trying not to smile.

"Oh, yes, that's much better. Hey, cake!" the USAF General responded sarcastically as he moved past them and towards the array of food on the far table.

* * *

Smoothing her trouser suit and smiling as pleasantly as she could manage, Halverson politely excused herself from the tedious conversation and wandered over to the spread on the table, screwing her eyes up in relief. As she selected a few items of food for her plate, Taylor sidled up alongside her and began doing the same. He leaned over surreptitiously.

"Get me out of here. I don't care how. I may just snap and shoot some of these people, unless Jarvis beats me to it. Actually he may just beat _them_." he whispered. Halverson struggled to suppress a giggle.

"What, you're not enjoying yourself? I just had the most riveting discussion with Mr Coolidge and Miss Bastable about the inner workings of IOA economic policy. Wait here, I'll go and ask them to tell you all about it." she said innocently. At the sight of the dour, sorely unimpressed expression on Taylor's face she stifled another giggle by quickly stuffing food into her mouth as Lieutenant Llewellyn arrived.

"Sir, please – how much longer do we have to put up with this?" the combat engineer said pleadingly under his breath.

"Lieutenant!" Taylor scolded sternly. "We are directly responsible for precipitating a major interplanetary crisis with potentially grave consequences for all life in the Milky Way that has forced the international community to divert considerable funding and resources from other projects specifically to deal with the problem." He glanced around the room. "Half an hour, at least."

"I don't think Sergeant Jarvis can take much more...it looks like Sir Dennis doesn't have any concept of personal space." Llewellyn murmured.

Taylor and Llewellyn walked away, talking about trying to rescue Jarvis from Sir Melford's attention before the Royal Marine's mind caved in and he snapped the civil servants neck. Halverson glanced around the room, spotting Chapman and Moore talking to a young, blonde combat medic. As the British IOA delegate turned away to talk to his US counterpart, Moffatt quickly broke away from Moore with an apologetic smile and made a beeline for Halverson.

"Elise – if you talk to Mr Chapman, for the love of God do _not_ mention insects...or anything that scuttles, swarms or tunnels. And if he asks, there is no animal life on this planet."

"What about those little furry worm things? Or the - "

"Just trust me."

The room began to shake, and Halverson could only watch as the plates of food began to rattle and judder towards the edge of the table.

"What the hell's going on?" Melford cried as the light fittings began to rattle, flickering and dimming intermittently. With only a few exceptions, the dignitaries were involuntarily ducking and glancing around the room, unsure if they were about to meet some grisly demise. Chapman seemed to be praying silently.

"That," Webber called over the rumbling din as he walked hurriedly towards the intercom mounted on the wall, "is the Stargate dialling."

As if to confirm this assessment, Sergeant Gibson's voice came over the base's public address system.

"Unscheduled offworld activation. Defence teams to the gatehouse."

"Why doesn't the SGC's gate do this?" Coolidge asked incredulously, pushing a rattling cup and saucer back towards the middle of the conference table as Halverson and Moffatt struggled to keep the plates of food from shaking their way off the table with only partial success. Outside the briefing room, orange lights were flashing and an alarm had begun sounding.

"To meet the MoD's deadline we had to forego installing a full dialling computer, frequency dampers or a decent capacitor system for the gate. Budget cuts being what they are, we may never get them installed."

As Webber's none-too-subtle dig sank in, the shaking ceased abruptly and the lights instantly reverted to their usual illumination. Seconds later, the intercom buzzed.

"Brigadier, 2LR just dialled in ahead of schedule. They need urgent backup, a heavy Fenrir presence has them pinned down some distance from the gate. The locals are trying to fight, but they're being cut to pieces." Sergeant Gibson's voice reported solemnly.

As Webber turned, Taylor and his team were already running for the exit.

"Permission to-" Taylor began as he ran out of the room, already loosening his tie.

"Granted. Control room, now." Webber shouted after them as he and 1LR disappeared out of sight, heading in the direction of the Garrison's nerve centre.

O'Neill stared after them, then turned to see the rest of the dignitaries staring blankly at him for some kind of an explanation.

"Well, when you've gotta go..." he offered, shrugging.

* * *

"Understood Major. Hold your position, we are assessing the situation." Webber said, releasing the microphone switch. He turned to Taylor.

"At this moment, we only have two offworld units, and one of them is pinned down too far from the gate to risk even sprinting back, assuming none of them were injured and they were willing to abandon the locals to their fate. I want to hear options."

"Gate defence teams, sir. It'd be a purely combat mission, after all. We're not asking them to undertake exploration or first contact."

"We have three teams of eight, at least one of which must stay here. Even with your team leading, that still only gives us a fighting force of, what, twenty-two people? Three of which won't even be combatants – and it still leaves the Garrison dangerously vulnerable to a Fenrir attack. For all we know, that's exactly what this is about. In terms of personnel, we'd be committing almost everything we have, with no possibility of backup. It'd be an all or nothing venture. Now, I'm not willing to abandon Major Hamilton, but you have to prove to me you stand a decent chance of succeeding for me to sign off on that – and fast."

Taylor chewed his lip as he thought.

"Elise, what kind of military strength have the 267 locals got?"

Halverson stammered slightly, briefly caught off guard.

"Uh, well, going by Major Hamilton's last report, the Lhoakans are at about a fifteenth or sixteenth century Europe level of development, give or take. They're a walled city-state, they have a kind of militia, basically for peacekeeping, defence against wild animals and the very occasional raiding party coming through the Stargate. Maybe a couple of thousand fighters, perhaps. As for weapons...they have something like the matchlock arquebus, and a flintlock musket is absolutely cutting edge for them, but mostly they're still using crossbows, longbows and probably swords."

"So at least some of them can operate firearms. Sir, what if we loaned the Lhoakans some assault rifles? Might be enough to tip the balance." Taylor said. Webber nodded reluctantly and turned to the console. He pressed the microphone switch.

"Major Hamilton, this is Lyngvi Garrison. We are preparing a counter-assault. Reinforcements will arrive in fifteen minutes, that is one-five minutes. Lyngvi Garrison out."

* * *

"I can't believe it. Our first day of Stargate operations and we're already mounting a major combat rescue op." Llewellyn said.

"Actually, sounds about right." Taylor said.

He glanced around. Aside from the rest of his own team, there were sixteen soldiers getting ready. Webber had agreed to temporarily assign two defence teams to Taylor.

"Right, listen up." Taylor said, zipping up the combat jacket and shrugging on his tactical vest. "I want you wearing assault order only. This is going to be a heavy fire fight, so grab as much ammo as you can. I don't need to tell you that the Fenrir are quite probably the toughest opponents the SGC ever faced in ground combat after Kull warriors. They can run incredibly fast, jump high and far, take a dozen shots to the chest before dropping and they absolutely will not hesitate to rip your throat out with their trinium-laced claws. Am I getting through to you?"

Their response was a chorus of concerned murmurs.

"Halverson, what kind of terrain are we looking at?" he said as he secured the holster around his thigh and began checking his radio. Since the armoury and the changing rooms hadn't been outfitted yet, the base's arsenal had been temporarily loaded into a large storeroom near to the gatehouse.

"Everything 2LR sent back says the city is dense urban, all the buildings are three or four stories high, stone architecture, cobbled streets, that sort of thing. They walled their city off long ago, so they've somewhat expanded upwards. It's a wet planet, too." she said as she loaded her P226 sidearm.

"Right. This is our first major engagement with the Fenrir, so lets not screw it up. Stuff as much ammo as you can into your webbing – that goes double for you three." Taylor said, gesturing towards Moffatt, Halverson and Nesbitt. "You'll be armed with P90s for defence, but your main role will be as non-combatant support. Everybody else, I don't want to see you carrying anything with less punch than a carbine." he said, indicating his own HK416.

"So why are we carrying these then?" Halverson asked, indicating her P226 sidearm.

"Full metal jacket nine millimetre ammo will break Fenrir skin and cause a surface wound, but it doesn't have enough penetration for any kind of fatal hit because of the organometallic trinium protein that holds their bodies together." Moffatt said automatically, before glancing around sheepishly. Taylor simply nodded in support.

"And given how freakishly tough they are, it appears that shallow flesh wounds don't do much more to a Fenrir than piss it off...which admittedly can be useful, but we're looking to eliminate the threat they pose entirely. That means armour piercing 5.56 is order of the day, and even then it takes a lot of them." Taylor added.

As he filled the pouches on his tactical vest with extra grenade cartridges and rifle magazines, he studied the rest of the people under his command. As ever, Jarvis was ready, waiting patiently while he carried his Minimi with an AT-4 slung over his shoulder. Llewellyn was loading the pack he carried with C-4, detonators and spare 40mm grenades for his M32 launcher. The defence teams that Taylor had appropriated wielded a similarly deadly variety of firepower, supplemented with currently the only two GPMGs in the Garrison. He just hoped it would be enough to take down the Fenrir.

"Nesbitt, Halverson, Wyatt, Dobson – grab those crates. Doherty, the ammo box next to them. All right people, we're moving out." He adjusted his throat microphone and earpiece before clicking his radio as he left the storeroom, hearing the sound of twenty-one pairs of combat boots following him. "Sergeant Gibson, we're on our way. Dial the gate."

Sirens sounded throughout the base and the ground began to tremble as the team made their way towards the gatehouse. The strip lights began to flicker as the Stargate drew power from the base's limited supply.

"I can tell you from personal experience that Fenrir are tough, their flesh is basically like kevlar and they wear armour on top of that, so be prepared to put half a mag into one to kill it." Taylor called over his shoulder as they moved.

"Stealth isn't much use against their senses, but try anyway. Their weapons use trinium-coated flechettes that can punch through our best armour. So don't do anything stupid." Taylor said as he started down the ramp towards the cave that held the Stargate, slotting a 40mm grenade into the underslung launcher on his carbine as he went.

He pushed the heavy metal hatch open and stepped into the gatehouse just as the Stargate's inner track spun for the final time. As the seventh chevron locked, the gate whined and the vortex rushed out from within the ring. As it receded, leaving a calm vertical pool of extra-dimensional forces and energies, blue-white light rippled and danced across every surface in the cave. Taylor walked across the expansive concrete floor until he was within ten metres of the Stargate and it's luminous, burbling event horizon. He turned and looked up at the control room nestled high into the wall of the cave. Webber had left the control room itself and was leaning on the railing in front of it, staring down at them. Several of the VIPs had joined him.

"Lieutenant, what's the MALP telling us about the gate's immediate vicinity?" Taylor said. Letting the multiple shot grenade launcher dangle on it's sling, Llewellyn produced and consulted his tablet, tapping the touch screen to move the probe's camera.

"Looks like...three hostiles facing the gate, five – no, _six_ metres in at ten, twelve, and three o'clock – looks like they're ready for a fight. There may be more, but the MALP isn't picking anything up sir."

"Right. I'll go over it one more time. Three teams, Alpha, Bravo and Charlie." Taylor said, indicating the members of each team. "Alpha will be a close combat assault unit under my command – carbines only, we go in, eliminate the immediate opposition. Llewellyn, you have Bravo. Bravo follows on my order only, secures the gate and sets up heavier weapons and defensive positions. All the non-combatants and support personnel comprise Charlie, you follow once the area is locked down, again, only on my order. Understood?"

The responses indicated they did.

"Major Taylor – I'm in the process of organising some heavy support. Radio back once the Stargate is secure." Webber called out, nodding towards the large hangar door on the other side of the cave. Taylor understood immediately what the Brigadier had in mind.

"With your permission sir." Taylor said, looking up at the control room on the right hand side of the cave.

Webber nodded. Taylor stepped up to the event horizon, followed by five other soldiers. Along with two others, he withdrew a flashbang grenade from his vest, pulled the pin and waited two seconds before rolling it through the gate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Taylor burst quickly through the puddle, already sprinting before he'd left the Garrison. The terrifying eight foot bulk of the Fenrir warrior loomed over him from barely two metres ahead, roaring and violently animated and moving closer to the gate. It was far too close and too large for him to dodge, sidestep or retreat from. At this distance, Taylor knew he would be dead in less than a second – except the alien werewolf was screaming in intense pain and clutching it's head with both hands, it's eyes screwed shut as it's sensitive eyes and ears suffered the brutal effects of Alpha's flash-bangs.

Taylor had his carbine raised and ready to fire on full automatic before he even stepped through the Stargate. The Fenrir's agonised howling was quickly drowned out and silenced by Taylor squeezing the German assault rifle's trigger. The alien warrior's dense fur rippled with each impact, it's body convulsing as the rounds tore into it's head and neck at point blank range as brass shell casings skittered and danced across the stone cobbles, the clinking sound of hot brass on stone muted by the rain and the report of several other assault rifles firing.

As it's now limp corpse fell to the ground amid splashes of thick black blood, it was quickly followed by the other two Fenrir at the hands of the rest of Alpha, both aliens uttering final-sounding gurgling noises as they fell to the ground under the combined assault rifle fire. Taylor sprinted past the wolf he'd killed and threw himself against a nearby low wall, scanning the surrounding area through the ACOG scope on his carbine.

The Stargate seemed to have been located in the centre of a large open courtyard, small raised beds of plants and stacks of wooden crates and barrels breaking up the vast expanse of stone paving. Directly ahead of the gate was a large arch, wide enough to afford him a view of the rest of the walled city-state stretching up the hillside above.

"'P7S-267's a bit wet'. Understatement of the bloody week, Halverson." Taylor muttered to himself as he wiped the rain off his face. The cobblestones underfoot were slick and glistening, raindrops bouncing off them and forming puddles everywhere, and if he looked up he had to squint to stop the rain affecting his vision. Thunder rumbled across a ceiling of black cloud, and distant flashes of flickering light suggested this wasn't the worst of the storm – the cloud was so thick it was hard to tell what time of day it was, but Taylor guessed it was late afternoon. The downpour, however, was not enough to put out the furious infernos raging across the tightly packed buildings of the city, even as the columns of black smoke drifted over the rooftops.

The courtyard was level, but beyond the arch in front of Taylor was a wide path that opened onto an even wider cobbled street running perpendicular to the Stargate. Wailing civilians fled past in terror, panic and confusion, oblivious to the luminous puddle of the Stargate and the new visitors with strange clothing and weapons. Taylor turned, the rest of Alpha confirming one by one with nods and hand signals that there were no further Fenrir in their immediate vicinity. He reached for his radio.

"Hostiles neutralised, area clear. Bravo, move up."

Taylor checked behind him as he heard the gate gulp, seeing Llewellyn and the gate defence team storm through after him, instinctively finding concealed, protected spots with good fire coverage. Even without dedicated offworld training they were doing precisely what they needed to, unfazed by the fact they had just jumped through a wormhole into an alien warzone.

"Clear and secure the gate, I want GPMGs there and there." he called to his men, adding hand signals for clarity and briefly watching the men swiftly set up the machine guns and set about preparing defensive positions before clicking his radio. "Charlie, proceed."

As the support unit stepped through, Taylor ushered them to the side.

"Local zone is clear straight ahead for thirty metres, no obstructions, send them through." he said into his radio.

Seconds later, the event horizon rippled and the bulk of an olive drab, open roofed Land Rover Wolf sped through, it's V8 engine gurgling as it braked neatly before it could roll through the arch and into the stream of terrified civilians. Another followed, parking almost alongside the first. With a pintle-mounted 7.62mm GPMG and a ring mounted .50 calibre heavy machine gun where it's roof would have been, each of the vehicles would be a welcome addition to the assault group.

"Lieutenant!" Taylor called to Llewellyn. "Have some of your men establish a secure defensive position - they hold the gate no matter what. We lose that and we're screwed. I want the rest to stay here for now, but they must be ready to move out at a moment's notice."

Llewellyn nodded and turned to issue orders to Bravo.

Taylor could hear screaming, volleys of primitive gunfire and blood-chilling howling echoing across the hillside city-state, periodically drowned out by the shriek of the Fenrir flechette weapons and random explosions. As he stared out over the city, he saw in the distance needle thin lines of angry, hot orange cutting down panicking city-dwellers, accompanied by the high pitched scream of the alien weapons. Bolts of blue-white plasma streaked out of nowhere to blow holes in the sides of buildings, frequently accompanied by excited inhuman yammering. He could only make out a few fleeting glances of Fenrir running and jumping across the city, but their locations could be deduced from the hordes of routed humans desperately trying to run from the alien attackers, their options for escape limited by the fires raging across the city.

Terrified civilians ran past him, many with streaming wounds, others clutching or dragging crying children. Soldiers in elaborately decorated armour and brightly coloured uniforms ran in the opposite direction, some of them wielding crossbows, ridiculously long barrelled muskets while others hefted pikes and halberds, the officers all with sabre-like swords. Not all of the soldiers were armed, some of them instead carrying flags, standards and pennants bearing intricate heraldic designs as if they could somehow demoralise the invading werewolves.

"They don't stand a chance, do they?" Halverson said solemnly, readjusting her vice-like grip on the P90 as she moved closer. Taylor decided the best response would be not to answer. He'd been good at military history back at Sandhurst, and having seen the difficulty that Earth's small arms technology had in taking down the aliens, he knew too well how ineffective the primitive, low velocity firearms would be against the trinium-laced flesh of the Fenrir.

"One Lima Romeo niner to Two Lima Romeo niner. Hamilton, signal your position relative to Stargate – reinforcements have arrived."

"Taylor, it is damn good to have you here man! We're pinned in a building about three or four hundred metres from the gate. Yates is injured, those flechettes tore his calf up and we don't have a medic."

"We'll come to you then, and Moffatt can patch him up."

"Taylor, be careful - Fenrir are running through the city. We counted two, maybe three dozen. Haven't seen this many in one place since the Battle of Lyngvi."

"Understood. You can give me a full sit-rep when we get there. For now, tell me _how_ to get there."

* * *

The way the walled city of Lhoaka had been built and clearly rebuilt over the centuries meant that every street varied dramatically in width – at one point, the team had to squeeze down an alleyway barely two feet wide, and all too frequently they had to retrace their steps, either because of raging fires and buildings reduced to rubble blocking their path or simply because there was no way to reach their destination.

"Somehow, I'm beginning to question the wisdom of bringing Land Rovers into this place." Taylor muttered as he wandered down another long, narrow alleyway.

"At least the layout of this city will slow the Fenrir down." Halverson said.

Taylor glanced quizzically over his shoulder at the anthropologist.

"What? I'm not allowed to have tactical insights every now and then?" she said defensively.

Sat high up on the hill, the palace of the Lord Governor of Lhoaka was an impressive edifice, though it would have been much more so had it not been as crowded by the buildings around it. It almost seemed like the only thing preventing any other buildings from encroaching on the magnificent, baroque and yet functional looking castle was the thirty foot high stone wall closely surrounding the entire building and it's small grounds.

As Taylor stepped into the wider street with the rest of 1LR behind him, he stopped, his attention drawn not to the palace but the urgent shouting coming from the opposite direction. Twelve of the ornately armoured local soldiers were lined up with their backs to him in the middle of the avenue, their muskets raised and ready. At the urging of their sword-wielding officer, they fired at the single Fenrir approaching them from further down the street. The wolf howled and snarled angrily, flinching and doubling up in pain as it was struck by a dozen speeding lead balls, the projectiles slamming into its armour and it's flesh. As the cloud of white smoke from the primitive guns drifted away, the astonished soldiers simply stared at the pained, enraged, and bruised but still very much alive bipedal wolf, realising with horror that it was nearly impervious to their most advanced weapons.

It also held it's gun-axe, raised and aimed at the rank of terrified musketeers.

"Back back back!" Taylor shouted, pushing and herding his team into the relative safety of the alley they'd just left. He saw orange lines cutting through the air and heard the chilling shriek of the Fenrir flechette weapon, drowning out the massed screams of the soldiers as their elaborate steel cuirasses and soft bodies were riddled with scores of tiny, hypersonic darts. Quickly pushing past Taylor and stepping into the avenue as the flechette weapon ceased firing, Jarvis sidestepped, sighted and squeezed the trigger on the Minimi in a single fluid motion. Surprised, the Fenrir attempted to shoot the Royal Marine but it's shots went wide, staggering back and almost loosing it's footing as it's patchwork chest armour rippled with explosions in miniature.

Uttering a deep, spluttering snarl, the creature faltered but remained barely standing, pawing at the half dozen holes in it's chest as they oozed a thick black liquid that looked almost like crude oil. Weakened and visibly shaking, the alien shrieked in it's bizarre tongue of howls, growling and guttural noises as it tried to aim the gun-axe at the large, flame-haired ape. Jarvis was faster. He squeezed again, the second burst of 5.56mm rounds putting it down for good.

"And stay down." he muttered under his breath, satisfied that the alien had definitely been killed. Moffatt ran to quickly check the fallen guards for survivors even as their blood mingled with the puddles and spread between the cobbles, but after only a few seconds she looked up at Taylor and shook her head. Nodding grimly and grateful the brave soldiers had at least been afforded swift deaths, Taylor waved them forward to the palace.

"Okay Ham, we're at the palace, what now?"

Seeing a small but heavy and reinforced door open in the wall surrounding the palace and the familiar figure of Hamilton wielding an HK G36 and gesturing for them to approach, Taylor stood up and dashed towards the huge building, splashing through the puddles. Once Nesbitt, Halverson, Moffatt, Jarvis and Llewellyn were also inside, he followed the Major up two flights of stairs until they entered a large wood-panelled room with a heavy oak door.

"My God am I glad to see you lot here." Hamilton breathed as they entered. What must once have been a remarkably ornate and extravagantly decorated room for official functions and serving the Lhoakan aristocracy was now little more than a hideout for 2LR, the city's government and a number of it's militia.

Hamilton's team were spread out, attempting to give what little aid they could to the wounded and shocked locals. The other occupants of the room were twelve of the city guards and several very well dressed civilians that Taylor guessed were town leaders or aristocrats. Amongst them were several dozen locals of clearly lower status in various states of distress.

Slumped against a far wall and looking deathly pale was Lieutenant Yates, Hamilton's second in command. His left leg was heavily bandaged from the knee down, his skin white and clammy and his chest rising and falling rapidly. Already the dressings were saturated, with almost no white remaining, and his eyes danced across the room, distracted and distant. He wasn't the only injured person. At least eight guards lay on the floor, several of them clutching wounds or grimacing in pain, the rest still. It was hard to tell how many had passed out and how many were already dead.

"Moffatt, see what you can do for him and anybody else who needs it. Nesbitt, Llewellyn, I want you to coordinate with 2LR and the locals, see if you can improve or improvise defences. Halverson, find out what you can from and about our hosts, any cultural or geographic info that might aid in defence. Jarvis, get on the radio to the defence section, have them fall back to the courtyard and hold the gate. Hamilton...talk to me. I want to know everything that happened here." Taylor said.

"It started about an hour and a half ago, maybe more. Three shuttles landed inside the city, in the central marketplace." he gestured to the large windows that filled one entire wall of the room. Through it was a huge, paved expanse, bordered on all sides by buildings. It seemed out of place in the typically cluttered and crowded architecture of the city, but even more unusually, sat in the very middle of the impressive and spacious marketplace were three of the distinctively shaped black and red Fenrir shuttles, their wings extended.

"We legged it back here – the Lord Governor's palace is probably the most defensible location we've seen, and it was close by – to keep the city elders safe and try and organise a counter-attack, but things moved too fast. Yates volunteered to run to the gate and dial the Garrison for back-up. He got hit on the way back – Whately and I had to run into the street to pull him inside."

Hamilton paused, taking a slug of water from his canteen.

"We considered just trying to make it to the gate, but one or two Fenrir periodically show up and take pot shots at us. We try and return the favour, but they're so damned fast. Besides, I think they like having us trapped in here – they could force their way in any time they like, but I think they enjoy having us wait."

"You might like to know that Sergeant Jarvis took out one of the mutts prowling around the palace, so that might take a little pressure off." Taylor said.

"Something's still not right. One of those Fenrir seems to be a commander of some kind – elaborate armour, personal shield, jet black fur, seems to be badly scarred. The weird thing is, they don't seem to be hunting, not in the usual manner. Nor is this about extermination...they aren't systematically eliminating the populace like we've seen on other worlds. If they wanted to do that, they could have wiped everybody out by now, easily. Instead they seem to be appearing randomly across the city, picking off handfuls of people, targeting soldiers mainly, destroying buildings and generally – "

"Inducing panic?" Taylor interrupted, his tone grave.

"Precisely. It's all a big show of force, all this panic and terror and chaos with comparatively little death and destruction – comparatively little for the Fenrir, anyway, it's meant to scare these people into submitting...Taylor, I'd lay odds that they're here to enslave this planet's population."

"What makes you say that?" Halverson asked.

Hamilton turned and walked over to his team's stash of equipment, opening a reinforced plastic sample case, selecting one of the items it held and throwing it to Halverson. She held it up to the light to examine it – it was a small, rough and lightweight stone with an odd silvery-grey appearance, and as she rolled it between her fingers she saw it was also powdering and crumbling easily. On impulse Halverson squeezed. After a second the pebble fractured and partially imploded, crushed under the force, tiny fragments and flakes of glittering grey mineral falling out of her hands.

"Trinium..." Nesbitt said, looking over her shoulder.

"I'm betting the Fenrir don't have the numbers to carry out the mining operation themselves. I was going to suggest to Webber that we negotiate a treaty to get access to the stuff when the Fenrir arrived." Hamilton said.

"So you think the Fenrir are here for the Trinium?" Taylor said.

"Makes sense, Major." Nesbitt offered. "With the Fenrir, both their technology and physiology incorporate trinium extensively – it stands to reason they'd need a major source of it once separated from their usual supply lines inside the Prison."

"Right now, that's fascinating, but not terribly important. What's more important is the defence of this city. I've got sixteen soldiers and two armed Land Rovers ready and waiting by the gate, but first we need to organise a solid defence. I just saw a line of musketeers get shredded by a single mutt. They may as well have fired water pistols at it, and I'm betting the same thing is happening all over this city. We need to act fast to stop this massacre. Who's in charge of the military here?" Taylor said.

A young man stepped forward, wearing an even more elaborate version of the uniform he'd seen on the soldiers, his helmet crested with pale blue, teal and vivid turquoise feathers and a fine dark blue cape hanging from his shoulders. One hand gripped his sheathed sabre nervously.

"I..I believe I am. Grand-Captain Phelle was one of the first to die, and nobody's heard from Captain Marnn since the attack started, so I'm the next in command. I'm Sub-Captain Waldroch of the City Guard."

Taylor stepped up to the man, altering the tone of his voice to compassionate yet commanding. The man had clearly endured too much already.

"Well, Sub-Captain, my men have the training and the weaponry to repel and kill these wolves, and I've got the experience of fighting them, but I don't have enough troops to contain the threat. First of all, I need you to send out the order to stop using muskets and switch to longbows and crossbows if you've got them."

"But...but our firearms – "

"Don't cut it, I'm sorry. I know they're the new toy and work very well against people, but... Okay, look. It's easier and faster if I show you."

Taylor ejected the magazines from his rifle and his pistol, holding them up with one in each hand and showing the young officer their contents.

"Your muskets fire slow, round balls, a bit like these." he said, indicating the rounded nine millimetre rounds in the pistol magazine. "Those things out there have thick, tough hides and these basically just bounce off, like your musket balls. What you need is penetration, and for that you need a sharp point – like these bullets, and like your arrows and bolts. Archers can fire faster too, which is important since you'll need a lot of them to take down a Fenrir...unless you can coat their tips in poison or set them on fire. You get it?"

A faint smile formed on Waldroch's face and he nodded understanding, already more confident.

"That's good. Now, I need you to round up as many soldiers as you can. After that, I need a map of the city. Time is short, sub-captain."

* * *

As the Land Rover approached at speed, the fifty calibre machine gun searching for targets in the street behind the Lord Governor's palace, Halverson and Nesbitt opened the reinforced gates to admit the vehicle. It passed through and screeched to a halt in the courtyard of the palace, eliciting gasps of shock from the assembled guards at the sight of the fast, horseless and strangely made metal carriage. Jarvis and Llewellyn ran to the vehicle and pulled the armoured crates from the rear of the vehicle.

"Secure those gates, quickly. Lieutenant, Sergeant, I want you to distribute those weapons and give these men basic instruction on their use." Taylor said as he walked back to the side door in the palace. He paused, then backtracked and turned to face Llewellyn and Jarvis again.

"Very basic." he emphasised, indicating the two dozen nervous and tired looking guards, their steel cuirasses dulled and scratched, their once flamboyant uniforms bloody or torn. He watched for a moment as Llewellyn and Jarvis undid the first crate and began pulling C7 assault rifles out of the foam and handing them to the guards.

"I didn't know we had that many to spare." Hamilton said, surprised.

"Actually, I just about cleared out the Garrison's supply. Webber wasn't happy, but he also didn't stop me. That reminds me, how are you for ammo?" Taylor said, fishing a trio of translucent polymer magazines from his vest and handing them to Hamilton as they walked quickly back to the palace's main chamber.

"Thanks, I could use these. I see you got your new toy then." Hamilton said, indicating the HK416 assault rifle in Taylor's arms.

"I've been dying to get my hands on one of these for ages. I've got a mate in Delta who swears by his."

Taylor walked over to the part of the room where Moffatt had set up a triage area and was tending to the wounded. Three bodies were already covered in sheets. Among the living, Yates seemed to be in the worst condition, evidenced by the blanket, oxygen mask and intravenous drip. Hamilton followed Taylor's gaze.

"He could have gone through to the Garrison when he dialled the gate, but he opted to rejoin us. Damn mutt hit him only a street away from here."

"How is the lieutenant?" Taylor asked. Moffatt didn't turn to look, focused on applying a dressing to a guard's tattered arm.

"Not good sir. He's lost a hell of a lot of blood and he's gone into shock. We need to get him back to the Garrison ASAP." Moffatt responded with grim professionalism.

"Noted. Get him down to the courtyard and load him on to the Land Rover, I'll have Sergeant Harper get him to the gate. If there are any other wounded that you think need to be evacuated, pick the very worst and have Harper take them too. Lieutenant," he said, pressing his earpiece, "I want those volunteers ready and armed in two minutes. We're going on a wolf hunt."

* * *

The Land Rover crawled down the cobbled street, flanked by eight soldiers on foot. Each quartet of troops contrasted sharply against the other – the British squaddies in dark, drab camouflaged gear and protective tactical vests, wielding SA80s, L86s and Minimis like they'd been born with them. The Lhoakans on the other hand were unmissable in their brightly coloured doublets and brown leather breeches. Their strangely shaped helmets all bore crests of what seemed to be turquoise feathers while their gleaming silver cuirasses were engraved with heraldic designs, the entire outfit making the extremely functional-looking matt black and olive drab assault rifles they wielded uncertainly look even more out of place.

"Rooftop, three hostiles, ten o'clock, approaching fast! Take cover and open fire!" the Corporal shouted. A terrible high pitched scream filled the air, and already the tiny, white hot trinium darts from the Fenrir gun-axes were slamming into the area around them at hypersonic velocity. Instantly the British soldiers fell into cover behind the Land Rover's V8 engine block or the nearby crates, scanning the rain-soaked tiles of the roofs opposite through the SUSATs on their SA80s. The Guardsmen stood their ground, raising their C7s and aiming at the snarling Fenrir warriors. One of them screamed and fell as a hail of incandescent, hypersonic trinium darts pierced his cuirass, perforating his torso with small puffs of steam and sparks. Another yelled and clutched his leg as the glowing splinters of metal pierced his thigh, but he kept firing.

Intermittently at first, but becoming more regular and rhythmic, the combined rifles of the SWRS soldiers and surviving Lhoakan Guardsmen opened up, spitting armour piercing rounds at the sprinting aliens. Roof tiles cracked and shattered, their fragments dancing briefly as the rounds missed the lupine invaders. One of the wolves howled and shuddered as fountains of sparks erupted from its armour as a volley of 5.56 rounds found their mark. The alien collapsed, it's body sliding towards the eaves and falling to the cobbled street amid a wave of clay tiles. The remaining two wolves swiftly changed direction to escape the field of fire, one of them leaping clean across the street from roof to roof, chased by fire from the C7s and SA80s.

"Two more, street level, twelve o'- " the Corporal began to shout. He was cut off not by small arms fire, but the deep, rapid and loud thumping of the fifty calibre machine gun mounted on the back of the Land Rover. The 12.7mm rounds from the gun tore into the cobblestones and Fenrir equally, ripping them both apart in a ripple of small grey explosions.

"Clear! Bravo Four to Alpha One...three enemy down, two fleeing. And sir, the fifty cal works a treat!"

* * *

"Bravo Four reporting three hostiles neutralised, two allied casualties, one KIA, one WIA. Alpha Two confirms two kills in north-eastern sector, and Bravo Three just bagged another two Fenrir in the southern sector, two more friendlies wounded. Major, we're also getting reports that fifty calibre machine guns are proving highly effective against Fenrir infantry."

"Good. But it'll get harder now – we caught them off guard, while they're divided and unable to produce any kind of unified response. I'd bet they'll be recovering soon, and our job will get a lot harder – so we have to take out as many as we can now. Relay to all units: press the advantage while we have it. Stop for nothing except civilians, take out every single mutt they come across while they can, because they'll be regrouping soon."

Taylor turned to face the men standing next to him. A thin, marked face, old and tired but possessed of obvious sharp intelligence sat atop a body dressed in fine robes of deep blue velvet threaded with gold and silver. Next to him, Sub-Captain Waldroch shifted uncomfortably.

"Lord Governor, we'll do what we can to avoid it, but I'm afraid we may deal severe damage to parts of your city in the process of eliminating the attackers." Taylor said, addressing the city-state's ruler.

"Buildings and livelihoods can be rebuilt. It is far, far harder with lives and bodies. Do what you feel is necessary, Major – you have already more than earned my trust."

"Thank you. We'll do everything in our power to help." Taylor said, before turning and jogging across to the impromptu command post that had been set up at the other end of the room, a beautiful and detailed map of the city stretched out on the vast oak table.

"Ham, give it everything you've got. Use the Landys and escorts to deal with the heavier resistance...station them here, and here until needed. Then you can use lighter infantry to draw the mutts into their line of fire. For God's sake don't let the packs merge."

Yet again, Taylor wished he had snipers at his disposal. They would have made short work of the Fenrir since to preserve something of their speed and mobility, the wolves had taken to moving individually or in small groups and across rooftops. Instead, he had medieval weapons, though they were already having much greater success than the massed muskets. Arrows and bolts, dipped in pitch, set alight and delivered by archers and crossbowmen had claimed three Fenrir and driven off several more.

Already, of the estimated thirty-six Fenrir present, they had successfully eliminated eleven. He was sure even the Fenrir would have to start retreating soon – though they were undoubtedly fearless, determined and single-minded, they still only had limited numbers and assets outside the Void Prison. This mission of theirs was probably supposed to be easy, no real resistance – that was likely the only reason they'd had the success they had. Excessive losses must be enough to convince the commanding officer he'd heard mentioned that retreat was preferable to the loss of three dozen warriors and a trio of hyperspace capable shuttles.

Wait, he thought. The officer...

"Llewellyn, I'm leaving the palace and heading for your position, meet me on the way. We need to take out a priority target."

Handing the rest of the wolf hunt to Hamilton with explicit instructions to relay any intelligence on the leader to him, Taylor picked up his rifle and left.

* * *

The street outside was deserted, but the signs of recent conflict were impossible to ignore. Even under rainfall, streams of blood ran through the cobbles from several crumpled, lifeless bodies. Blackened, smoking stone lay scattered across the ground where the Fenrir's heavier weapons had blown holes in the walls of buildings, and small fires raged even under the incessant rain. Columns of smoke rose in the distance, indicating even worse damage to the city's infrastructure. The crowds had almost disappeared now, the few humans he saw always soldiers of one world or another.

Seeing the direct route back to the Stargate and the SWRS forces impromptu staging post blocked by a collapsed building, it's shattered timbers burning, Taylor looked around for an alternate path. The narrow alleyway ahead looked like it was heading in roughly the right direction to bypass the obstacle. He started forward, his carbine raised.

The alley was narrow and long, but eventually it gave way to a wider street, and as he stepped into it, he cast his eye over the surroundings. Crates and wagons had been abandoned, and much further down, he saw a local woman stood in front of a dead end, a small child sobbing beside her. She was desperately trying to open a heavy wooden door to one of the houses and keep the young boy close.

"Can I help at all?" Taylor asked, jogging towards her and lowering his carbine.

Startled, she turned, uneasily and desperately brandishing a smouldering piece of wood, and he realised too late that she was shaking, terrified beyond the ability to speak. That was when he heard the first click.

He spun around, instinctively assessing the situation. Five snarling werewolves were advancing slowly but purposefully from several hundred feet further up the street, two of them on the rooftops. They were blocking the best escape routes, and he realised he was now too far from the alley to make a break for it – even if he was prepared to abandon the woman and her child. The Fenrir's luminous-looking eyes all fixed rigidly on him as their claws clicked on cobbles and tiles. All of their weapons remained strapped across their backs, but he could see their lips curled back, revealing glinting silvery teeth – and he could swear at least one of the Fenrir was drooling. Fingers flexed, trinium-laced talons scything through the air in eager anticipation of the kills to come. They evidently had something much worse than just shooting him in mind.

"Get inside. Now." he breathed, backing slowly towards the woman without taking his eyes off the wolves. Slowly he raised the carbine and aimed it at each Fenrir as it advanced.

He thought quickly about his weapons – he had a knife, a nine millimetre pistol that would barely break Fenrir skin, four fragmentation grenades, a loaded single shot grenade launcher, and a fresh magazine in his carbine, but since it took more than a dozen rounds even at close range to terminate a single wolf, and the magazine held thirty rounds, he was still short. The idea of reloading the rifle while the unnervingly fast alien predators bore down on him and the civilians was too unpleasant and suicidal to consider. He could make a stand, keeping the wolves focussed on him but he knew he wouldn't last long. He might take one, two, even three down if he was supremely lucky, but the rest would tear him to shreds seconds later. Probably literally, he thought gruesomely...but it might buy time for the civilians to escape.

"Oh, this is not going to end well."

He assessed the situation tactically, trying fervently to come up with some means of eliminating the opposition, but he knew the odds were stacked against him. He looked again, this time trying to find a way of surviving…but there was nowhere he could get to before they ran him down, nothing he could hide in that they couldn't rip apart in a flash – even escaping wasn't an option now. They were playing with him. They knew they could kill him in a matter of seconds if they wanted, that he had nowhere to go and no realistic means of getting out of this alive, so they were drawing the whole hunt out, making him wait for his own death, seeing how much he would panic or how much of a fight he would put up. Just like they'd probably done with Colonel O'Bannon, he thought grimly.

"Your mum's never told you not to play with your food then?"

Backing up slowly, never taking his eyes off the wolves as they continued to openly, brazenly stalk him, he took a deep breath, nodded resolutely and spoke what he knew were most likely his final words.

"Right then! Who's first?"

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

_Author's Note: I'm afraid that's it for this fic folks - Stargate Ragnarok episode 3 "Baptism of Fire, Part 1" is now done and dusted, complete, finished! But don't worry, because episode 4 "Baptism of Fire, Part 2" will be coming soon! Thanks for reading, and an especially heartfelt thanks if you've left a review. _

_If you want to know when episode 4 is posted, either add me to your Author Alerts (since it will be a separate fic), or visit the Stargate Ragnarok thread on GateWorld._

_Thanks for reading!_


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